


Fake It Till You Make It

by sifuhotman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, FAKE DATING (the remix), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, Literally just Atsumu being stupid and Sakusa being stupid, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, no angst just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman
Summary: When Atsumu convinces Akaashi to fake-date him in an effort to set him up with Bokuto, somehow, Sakusa gets roped into it.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 138
Kudos: 1445





	1. Faking It

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted a fake dating AU where Atsumu digs himself into deeper shit, as he usually does.

A condensed list of things in Miya Atsumu’s life that piss him off:

1\. His twin brother, Osamu, quitting volleyball. Yes, he’s _‘gotten over it’_ ; no, he has never forgiven him for it. They could be the twin terror in the professional volleyball scene, but, of course, Osamu had to go ruin it for _rice balls_.

2\. Five AM practice. The court will still be there in three hours. Do they _really_ have to do them dirty like that?

3\. Akaashi fucking drooling over Bokuto whenever he swings by the MSBY Black Jackals practice. Yeah, Bokuto’s hot, but Akaashi (a beautiful man himself) has absolutely no right to be mooning over some _idiot_ who doesn’t even realize he’s being mooned over. It’s pathetic, really.

4\. Sakusa Kiyoomi and his _stupid_ , unfairly symmetrical face and stupidly perfect spikes and stupidly pouty lips that never withhold a quip to call out Atsumu on his bullshit.

5\. But what pisses off Atsumu the most, out of everything else, is that he’s doing the _same exact thing_ as Akaashi.

Atsumu wipes at his forehead with a towel. Off to the side, Hinata is going off on a tangent to Sakusa, about the rigorous ab exercises he does every morning, night, and every time after he takes a shit. Apparently frequent and habitual ab exercises allow him to build core strength that lets him bump any spike or serve.

Sakusa is listening, sort of, in between slow sips from his water bottle. His curls hang damp in his eyes, and beads of perspiration collect on his neck, the skin peeking out of his t-shirt. Under the bright lights of the gymnasium, halfway through the MSBY Black Jackal’s daily practice, Sakusa’s skin glistens.

Seriously. He is _glowing_.

“Tsum Tsum, you feeling okay?” Bokuto’s voice jolts Atsumu back to the present, and he almost jumps, like, twenty feet in the air.

“Jesus, Bo-kun. Yer always comin’ up from nowhere ‘n screaming right in my ear.” Atsumu takes a step away, but Bokuto’s presence is as thick as his optimistic personality. He glances past Bokuto’s looming figure and sees Akaashi, eyes flickering behind his glasses that kind of make him look like a sexy librarian.

And, of course, where are those eyes flickering, too?

 _Be more obvious, Kaashi-kun_ , Atsumu muses.

“Do you need me to get you some more water?” Bokuto squints. Oblivious as usual, Bokuto’s brows furrow over his wide eyes. Atsumu likes that about Bokuto. Bokuto can be an energetic, over-the-top man-child half the time, but he is a sincere man, a solid teammate, and an all around good person. He’s not as intense as Hinata can be, nor does he have that streak of twisted personality that Atsumu has. “You look kinda feverish.”

“We just played three scrimmage matches in a row; ‘course I look sweaty as hell, moron.”

“Atsumu-kun must’ve been thinking something dirty,” Inunaki teases.

“Shut yer trap.”

“See? He’s not denying it.”

“There’s nothin’ dirty goin’ on in my head, alright?”

“That’s because there’s nothing in your head.”

“Wan-san!”

Inunaki laughs, clapping Atsumu on the back before wrinkling his nose and patting the dampness of Atsumu’s sweat off his palm with a spare towel. Atsumu wipes his face once more, hoping it’ll hide the fact that his face is, indeed, red as hell. Atsumu’s not sure when this happened; he always thought going pro meant he’d be working with classy professionals, that he’d have to dial down the blunt comments and flirtatious remarks. Turns out that for every snarky remark came three more that he has to receive, and Atsumu finds himself shouldering a majority of the roasts.

Coach Foster blows the whistle and yells, “Get your asses back on court!” As Atsumu tosses the towel to the side, his skin prickles at the drawl suddenly beside him.

“You’d better not be getting sick,” Sakusa says, flat and unflinching.

If Atsumu were an honest man, he’d admit that he’s only a little feverish because Sakusa is hotter than the hottest temperature his body can handle. But Atsumu is not honest, nor is he daring, nor is he stupid enough to do anything than try his damn hardest to hide it. He’s also annoyed at himself, for letting his dilemma show so easily, and he does what he does best: he deflects. “Maybe you should try worryin’ ‘bout yourself, huh, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa wrinkles his nose at the nickname. He fought it for an entire two weeks before relenting, knowing that Atsumu was more likely to eat shit than give up on a petty battle like that. As Sakusa stares blankly at him, as if picking him apart cell by cell, and Atsumu clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palms, to avoid squirming under that gaze.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sakusa finally says.

“So prickly.”

“And stop fucking around with your tosses.” Atsumu bites his lip. Stupid Sakusa. It’s unfair how he can just be that attractive and be that casual about it. “They were too high at the end of last game.”

“You hit ‘em anyway, didn’t ya?”

“You piss me off.” Sakusa walks away without glancing back, and Atsumu finally has a chance to catch his breath.

There was once a time when Atsumu thought that maybe, just maybe, the callous words slipping from Sakusa tongue were supposed to be an invitation to charged verbal sparring. Like the kind of bickering couples with a lot of chemistry have. Surely Sakusa’s willingness to talk to Atsumu was a good thing, right?

Yeah. He thought wrong. It turns out that Sakusa is literally just a blunt jerk who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Sure, Atsumu is a blunt jerk and can’t keep his mouth shut, either, but it’s different when it arrives matter-of-factly like Sakusa’s remarks do. Not trying to rile up people like Atsumu’s taunting. Just calling it like he sees it. Like he _means_ it.

In another world, maybe they could’ve had that kind of enemies-to-lovers deal. The kind of bullshit that Atsumu hates to admit he wants. Because there’s something inherently sexy about bantering and angry make out sessions, apparently. Too bad it only exists in movies.

Atsumu sighs. He’s not even a romantic guy. In fact, he doesn’t even know if he _likes_ Sakusa. Or if Sakusa’s even remotely interested in dating men. But technicalities don’t really matter in this case, since even _if_ Sakusa were interested in dating men, there’s no way he’d be interested in dating (or whatever) with Atsumu.

“Bo-kun,” Atsumu says as he bounces a ball against his hands a few time. They’re taking it easy, now, with some spike drills, with Atsumu experimenting where he places the ball for Bokuto. He thinks Bokuto can jump at least three centimeters higher. Bokuto isn’t so sure. “Why does Kaashi-kun always hang around during morning practice?”

“Huh?” Bokuto stretches out his shoulder as he speaks. The heavy _thump_ of Hinata practicing his tosses with the other spikers—Sakusa included—echo from the other side of the court.

“He’s here more often than not,” Atsumu comments. “And sometimes even in evening practice, too.” Though evening practices are more rare for him, Atsumu’s noticed it. It’s hard not to notice a slim, smart-looking man with a face prettier than whatever big boy band has hit Twitter.

“Akaashi?”

“You know of another Kaashi around here?”

“He works late,” Bokuto explains. “So he doesn’t get to come out much after work.”

“So he wakes up early to come _here_?”

“Honestly, I think it kind of comforts him. He likes volleyball gyms and games. We played on the same team!” Bokuto’s eyes brighten. Atsumu groans internally. Oh, he’s well aware that they played at Fukurodani together. Not only does Bokuto blab to anyone and everyone about the ‘good old Fukurodani days,’ but whenever they go drinking, it’s the first fun fact Bokuto likes to share. _Did you know Akaashi and I perfected the one-person time-difference attack within one practice of knowing each other?_

“But don’t you think it’s exhausting for him?”

Bokuto grabs a spare volleyball and positions himself ten feet away. Atsumu plants his stance, arms slightly raised, as Bokuto tosses it up high enough that Atsumu has plenty of time to adjust his position as he needs. Their conversation is paused momentarily as Bokuto sprints against the net, left side, and hurls his body in the air, back arching back, right arm raised.

Atsumu zips the ball in a perfect quick set, and Bokuto slams it down.

“Nice,” Atsumu says.

“I don’t think it’s exhausting. Akaashi says he should wake up early, anyway.”

Atsumu glances at Akaashi’s haggard expression as he sips on a ridiculously large cup of coffee. “Really.”

“Really.”

“He doesn’t look too happy about it,” Atsumu mumbles.

“What?”

“I said, aren’t you gonna spike another? Not just stand there ’n look pretty.”

Bokuto laughs and they repeat the motion, pausing every so often to discuss whether or not Atsumu could toss it a millisecond faster or Bokuto could jump a millimeter high. Atsumu’s head clears just enough to stop noticing that Sakusa’s shorts cling to his ass, but not enough to stop noticing that Akaashi is _literally_ always staring at Bokuto.

A flare of irritation. What’s even more ridiculous is how Bokuto is so heels over head in love with Akaashi without even realizing it.

 _I should get them together_.

The thought lands neatly in Atsumu’s mind, perfectly slotted between his condensed process of trying to set a ball. After another satisfying kill followed by Bokuto’s hollering of celebration, Atsumu nudges at it a bit more.

 _I should get them together by making Akaashi jealous_.

He could totally do that. He could hit on Bokuto, maybe even share a couple drunk smooches on social media platforms.

But, truth is, Akaashi kind of scares Atsumu. He has an aura that no one would dare fuck with, not even him. Atsumu isn’t sure when he started being intimidated by Akaashi. He’s known the former setter since their high school days, when he singlehandedly managed to reign in Bokuto on court and took Fukurodani to the center court as a second-year. Inarizaki narrowly beat Fukurodani in the following Spring Tournament, in a two-point gap the last set that would’ve easily been crushed if Bokuto had been there.

That’s probably where that fear comes from. Although their high school glory days are long gone, Akaashi and Atsumu were reunited (if it could even be called that) because where Bokuto is, Akaashi isn’t too far away.

A chill crawled up Atsumu’s spine when he first noticed Akaashi at Bokuto’s house for the first new-member initiation party. Something about him reminds Atsumu of one of his captains in high school, Kita-san, who is rumored to have killed five men with only his left pinky.

So, no, making Akaashi jealous would not be a good idea. Atsumu doesn’t have a death wish. The only viable solution, then, would be to make Bokuto jealous, although Atsumu isn’t sure if Bokuto even has the emotional awareness to know what jealousy is. Still. It’s worth a shot. Atsumu’s been horny for drama, anyway. And maybe horny for other people. Or at least a specific person. But _whatever_. Those are technicalities. And, as Atsumu has concluded, technicalities don’t matter.

Atsumu’s only spoken with Akaashi with Bokuto attached at his hip. He decides that today will be the first time he will have a conversation with Akaashi _alone_.

Hopefully—Atsumu glances over at Akaashi, who looks like a mix between a hitman, CEO, or love interest in a Shojo manga—it will not be his last.

* * *

“So.”

Akaashi glances up. Today, he wears a peacoat and trousers that end right at his ankles. Atsumu notices that the loafers on his feet are impeccably polished.

“Good morning, Miya-san,” Akaashi says, formal as ever. He gives a curt nod. “You played well today.”

Atsumu’s skin crawls. “Please don’t call—”

“Right. Atsumu-kun. Sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s been over a year since we started seeing each other more, Kaashi-kun.” Atsumu smiles lazily at him, hoping his charm will work. Unfortunately, Akaashi stares at him with that same unflinching expression Sakusa has every time Atsumu tries to flirt. “Don’t ya think it’s time ya start talkin’ to me like we’re actually friends?”

Akaashi glances at the door to the locker room. Bokuto takes ridiculously long showers, mostly because he and Hinata are too busy dicking around in the locker room to be efficient with their time. It’s a fact that Atsumu was banking on to be able to snag a quick conversation with Akaashi.

“With all due respect, Atsumu-kun,” Akaashi says, “and I truly mean this in the most unoffensive way possible, but I don’t think you and I are friends.”

Ouch.

“Playin’ hard to get, huh?”

Akaashi sighs. He sounds less like a youthful twenty-something and more like an overworked father of five. “I’m not playing anything.”

“Then why don’t ya try to get to know me?”

A voice cuts in. “There is no world in which someone as smart as Akaashi-kun would ever willingly get to know someone as crass as you.”

Atsumu whips his head to the side. Sakusa, the bastard, ambles out of the bathroom. Atsumu had conveniently forgotten that Sakusa was the first one in and out of the bathroom showers after every practice. “Ya don’t need to be so cranky, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop walking, and he gives a nod to Akaashi in acknowledgement as he walks past. Atsumu _knows_ his eyes are lingering on the damp curls at the nape of his neck but he can’t fucking help it.

When Atsumu finally, _finally_ tears his gaze away from Sakusa (a second or a minute?), he turns his attention back to Akaashi only to be met with a surprise:

Akaashi Keiji. Smirking.

“What?” Atsumu’s voice cracks in the middle of the word. His cheeks flare in embarrassment.

“Nothing.” Akaashi doesn’t grin, yet he still manages to communicate to Atsumu that he’s amused. How the hell does he do that?

“Yeah, I don’t know if I believe ‘ _Nothing_ ’ when yer being all smug as hell.” Atsumu crosses his arms. “What is it, Kaashi-kun? Tell me what’s so funny it’s got ya smirkin’ like an idiot.”

“You’re the idiot here.” Akaashi pauses. “Atsumu-kun.”

“Akaashi.”

“Atsumu.”

Atsumu huffs. They stand like that for a few tense breaths.

“I wasn’t jokin’ about you finally gettin’ to know me, Kaashi-kun,” Atsumu continues. “Let’s hang out sometime.”

Akaashi’s eyes narrow. He does this thing where he calculates things. Atsumu can tell; Kita-san was like that, too, and it unnerves Atsumu, who acts almost strictly on impulse and forced restraint. “Why do you want me to get to know you, exactly?”

“Why does there gotta be a reason?”

“Because you’re Miya Atsumu. You always have an ulterior motive.”

“I’m doin’ it out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Let me rephrase, Atsumu-san.” Akaashi shifts the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. His face has settled back into its flat expression, blue eyes piercing at him. Damn, if he weren’t already completely enamored by Bokuto, and if Atsumu weren’t busy thirsting over Sakusa, Atsumu could totally see himself pining after him. “What is your ulterior motive?”

“Does there always hafta be an ulterior motive to ask someone out on a date?”

Any semblance of coolness evaporates as Akaashi’s mouth hangs open a bit, as if any words he’d been planning on saying up and died right on his tongue, halfway out his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s go on a date, Kaashi-kun. I’ll treat ya.”

Akaashi frowns. He tilts his head, like the entire situation is a problem on a math exam and not just Atsumu trying to get Akaashi to hang out with him. “No,” he says, less harsh in tone than Sakusa might be, but equally as blunt.

“What?” Okay, so maybe Atsumu hadn’t expected Akaashi to agree right away, but he hadn’t expected the almost immediate and resounding _No_ , either. He isn’t sure if he should be offended. Should he be offended? “No?”

“I just watched you drool over Sakusa as he passed by,” Akaashi says. “And then you just so happen to claim you want to ask me out on a date. Something doesn’t add up here.”

“Stop tryna do math, Kaashi-kun. It’s too early for that.”

“I think you need to straighten out your priorities, Atsumu-kun.” The deadpan tone would usually be enough to set of Atsumu, if he weren’t already so mortified about checking out Sakusa.

“There’s nothing straight about my priorities.” _Or yours_ , Atsumu muses, but if he’s right aboute the stubborn streak that Akaashi possesses—or the bratty streak that he’s just gotten a quick glimpse of—he knows pushing his luck too far will only send him into deep shit. Like, gets him put on Akaashi Keiji’s hit list of _People To Kill And Make It Look Like An Accident_ -level shit.

“So what are you trying to do? Make Sakusa jealous? Is that your plan?”

“That’s not my plan.”

“Then _what is it?_ ”

“So you _are_ interested?”

“I’m trying to understand.” Akaashi crosses his arm and tilts his head at the slightest angle. Atsumu begins to squirm.

“I bet you understand drooling over attractive volleyball players _very well_.”

It surprises Atsumu, sometimes, how he’s able to hold his own despite feeling like he’s gonna shit himself from fear. Akaashi inspires that fear.

“Excuse me?”

“Somethin’ tells me ya don’t need clarification to catch my my drift, is all.”

“What is going on in your brain?” Akaashi eyes are narrowed. “I can’t figure it out.”

“Get in line,” Atsumu mutters under his breath. He sticks his hands in his sweatpants, noticing for the first time that, if he even wants a chance to be even remotely associated with Akaashi, he’ll have to step up his wardrobe game. Akaashi looks like a professional businessman. Atsumu looks like a college student who barely made it to his 9AM lecture on time. “And if it is?”

“If what is?”

“If my plan is to make Sakusa jealous?”

“Then I think you need to reassess your priorities.” Akaashi shrugs. “Just ask him out on a date.”

“I can’t just do that.”

“Why not? You just asked me.”

“It’s different.” Atsumu groans as Bokuto’s “Hey, hey, hey!” erupts out of the bathroom. His hair defies gravity, as usual, and he wears his signature Black Jackals tracksuit. If Bokuto wants to date Akaashi, he’ll need to upgrade his wardrobe, too.

“Hello, Bokuto-san. You had a great practice, as per usual.”

“Did you see the awesome four I hit? Did ya? Atsumu sets it almost as good as you did back in high school. Although, I think he sends it a little higher…”

Atsumu digs into his pocket to pull out his phone, choosing to ignore the buzzing when he sees that Osamu is calling. He glances up in the midst of Bokuto’s incessant rambling, to which Akaashi responds minimally. But that doesn’t matter, because Akaashi’s attention never diverts. And, like the so-called perfect tosses Akaashi once gave Bokuto in high school, it never wavers, either.

He _melts._ That’s the best word to describe it, Atsumu decides. Akaashi melts before Bokuto, but the difference in his gaze is small, almost imperceptible. A certain softness that cuts through the hard, impenetrable facade that Akaashi arms himself in, and Atsumu pauses a moment to admire that.

Atsumu has always worn his heart on his sleeve. Akaashi, it seems, is the exact opposite, and Atsumu has successfully caught onto the one pathetic chink in Akaashi’s otherwise flawless armor: Bokuto.

“Anyway! Tsum-tsum! What were you and Akaashi talking about?”

Atsumu panics and sends an SOS flare to Akaashi. He’s never had telepathy with anyone either than Osamu, but judging by the microscopic raise of Akaashi’s left eyebrow, he has the sense that Akaashi can read people almost as well as Osamu could read his mind.

 _Please don’t tell this dumbass that I am about three seconds away from exploding over a little crush I have on a fellow team member_.

“I was just in the middle of askin’ Akaashi-kun out on a date,” Atsumu tests.

Akaashi visibly tenses. “You were,” he says flatly.

A terse moment.

Bokuto blinks. “Oh.” His head whips back and forth between the two, and it really could _not_ be more awkward. “Should I leave you alone—”

“That won’t be necessary, Bokuto-san. I was just in the process of giving Atsumu my number so we can talk about it _later_.” Akaashi’s words escape through clenched teeth.

Bokuto, however, wears the same confused expression he gets every time a team stuffs him multiple times in a row in a game.

Atsumu lets his charismatic asshole persona take over. “The pleasure’s all mine, Kaashi-kun. I’ll punch in my number for ya.”

Akaashi visibly cringes as he reluctantly passes off his phone, and Atsumu types in his number. He neglects to add that he’s had Akaashi’s number programmed into his phone for the past nine months. He’s Bokuto’s first emergency contact, so of _course_ Atsumu would have it.

“You can text me your number,” Atsumu says before flashing the two of them a grin. “I’ll leave ya to it.”

“Bye. Atsumu-san.” Akaashi’s words are monotous and seething. “Have a great day.”

“Uh, bye bye! See you later.” Bokuto clears his throat as he waves good bye, and Atsumu turns to exit the building to let the lovebirds have at it.

It’s only after he’s walked out of the shiny doors of the gym that he realized Akaashi never actually said yes.

Sneaky bastard.

* * *

> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> What the hell were you thinking.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> aw, c’mon now. u did great
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> What are you trying to do, Atsumu-kun?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> san or kun? make up ur mind
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> I have plenty of other words to call you.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> aw how romantic
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> All of them are four letters.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> haha
> 
> yer funny, kaashi
> 
> show me more of ur humor
> 
> over lunch :)
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> I never agreed to anything.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> yeah but also i didn’t hear a no!
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Atsumu-kun.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> kaashi (✿ ♥‿♥)
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Please don’t make that face.
> 
> For the last time.
> 
> What do you want.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> is this one better ( ͝° ͜ʖ͡°)
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> No.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> come onnnnn let’s just have some fun
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> There is no such thing as fun with you.
> 
> Only headache.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> o be still my heart
> 
> anyway
> 
> i’m testing to see something
> 
> and ur always around jackals practice
> 
> so u are a perfect candidate
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Does this something have anything to do with Sakusa-kun?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> shut ur trap
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> So, yes.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> and maybe someone else
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> ?
> 
> Who?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> take a wild guess, kaashi
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> I’m not good at guessing.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> if u wanna find out
> 
> let’s go on our first date!
> 
> lunch date 1pm see u there!
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> No.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i’ll get samu to give us free onigiri
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> …
> 
> Fine.
> 
> But it’s not a date.
> 
> I want to know what you’re up to.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> something tells me you already know
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> It’s too early for this bullshit. Goodbye.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> (｡♥‿♥｡)

* * *

“What is _this_ all about?”

Atsumu twists in his seat at the counter top at Onigiri Miya. It’s busy, as expected for lunch time, but a majority of patrons are bustling in and out of the shop for orders to go.

He smiles up at Akaashi, who has a scowl painted across his face, glasses slightly crooked and a lone piece of tape stuck to the zipper of his jacket. Atsumu reaches forward and peels it off before flicking it to the side. “Nice to see ya, too.”

Akaashi hesitates, but only for a moment, before sliding into he empty seat beside Atsumu. “I only came because I was promised onigiri for free.”

“On the house. Right, ‘Samu?”

Atsumu’s voice ratchets up in volume and his brother throws him a dirty look over his shoulder. It sucks that Osamu didn’t continue volleyball, yeah, but having the original Onigiri Miya shop in Osaaka is an acceptable option B. Osamu, as usual, ignores his brother, busying himself with mixing a new batch of fragrant rice as his coworkers churn out onigiri like machines.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Akaashi voices. For a split second, Atsumu forgot he was there.

“Well, yer in for a treat. Today he’s giving us a first taste of next season’s special.”

“Wow.”

“It’s inspired by—” Atsumu grunts as Osamu plants a Onigiri Miya cap over Atsumu’s head—he’s always had a big one, and the cap is _way_ too tight to be comfortable—and yanks it down so low that it covers Atsumu’s eyes.

“Stop goin’ around blabbin’ to your friends about our trade secrets, dumbass.”

“He wasn’t doing that,” Akaashi assures him, and Osamu raises two thick eyebrows, surprised that Akaashi would stick up for his twin. Atsumu is surprised, too, until Akaashi elaborates, “We’re not friends.”

Osamu barks a laugh and slides two steaming cups of tea across the counter. “Yer onigiri is comin’. Sorry ‘bout the wait—we’re backed up from a catering order.”

Akaashi checks his phone for the time and nods. “Please, take your time. I have a free schedule, for once.”

As Osamu returns his work, Atsumu frowns. “Yer so much nicer to my brother than me.”

“No offense, Atsumu-kun,” Akaashi says in a tone that indicates, to Atsumu, that he is trying to be as offensive as possible, “but your brother isn’t nearly as devious as you are. So I don’t have to be not-nice to him.”

Atsumu snorts. “That’s ‘cause you don’t know the real demon inside of him.”

“That demon doesn’t show up unless it’s on the volleyball court—with _you_.”

“Can we stop talkin’ only about my brother? This lunch is about _us_ , Kaashi.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes. His hair seems more disheveled than it was earlier this morning, and there’s a faint smell of coffee that lingers in the air around him. Atsumu guesses that he must have spilled some on himself, though his clothes don’t seem to betray him with any stains. “There is no us,” Akaashi says, simply. “In fact, you seem to want to redefine your ‘us’ with someone else, and use me to achieve that?”

“Maybe I’m just deeply in love with ya.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m not _using_ you.”

“You asked me to date you, and I’m assuming this is to make Sakusa jealous.”

Atsumu’s cheeks flame at it being said out loud. “I already told you. I’m not making him jealous.”

“Yeah? Then what _are_ you doing?”

“I’m…exploring.” Atsumu taps his fingers on the countertop, antsy as hell, wanting nothing more than to toss back a couple of beers so he can spill out all the disgusting _feelings_ he has, to someone, anyone. “And I got this theory, Kaashi-kun, that you are in the same boat as me.”

Akaashi shook his head. “There you go again. Saying stuff that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Kaashi-kun, why do you show up to practice every morning?”

He hesitates. Atsumu makes a game of seeing how many times Akaashi purses or bites his lips before speaking as he thinks. So far, the count is up to six. “It comforts me,” he finally answers. “I grew up playing volleyball, and being in the gym—”

“You sure it’s the gym that comforts ya?”

“What are you implying?”

“Don’t ya work with literary?” Atsumu asks, only vaguely aware of what Akaashi does for a living. If it’s not related to volleyball, and it’s not his brother, Atsumu tends to tun out with mundane lives of people around him, Akaashi included. He’s sure he’s heard Bokuto mentioning something about writing, or reading, or maybe book printing.

“Unless manga counts as literary,” Akaashi says in a flat voice, “then no.”

“Well, ya still know a thing or two about subtext. Somethin’ tells me ya don’t need me to answer what I’m implyin’, ‘cause ya already know.” Atsumu shoots him a cheeky grin. Akaashi’s lip biting resumes, his perfectly shaped brows pulled down low over his forehead. It really _is_ such a shame that he’s so hopelessly devoted to Bokuto. If Atsumu could kiss Akaashi once and live to tell the tale, he definitely would. As something to brag about; a fun fact to share at parties. Atsumu values his life slightly more than he values being interesting. “You really don’t want me sayin’ it out loud, do ya?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Akaashi mutters. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“But you’re here now. So speak yer mind.”

Akaashi collapses into a silence as Osamu returns with two plates of onigiri, glistening with sesame oil and smelling like the last meal Atsumu could ever hope to eat. “Earlier than expected. Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Akaashi says.

“Thanks, ya dweeb.”

Osamu swats away Atsumu’s plate and pushes it closer to Akaashi. Atsumu whines in protest, and Osamu sticks his tongue out at him. “Yer not allowed to enjoy. Akaashi-san can get all of them and you can starve, for all I care.”

Atsumu pouts as Osamu ambles off, glad that in the time since Osamu’s matured—leaving Atsumu feeling like he’s falling incredibly behind—he’s still as snarky as he’s been since they were kids. He turns his attention back to Akaashi, who carefully studies the onigiri like they’re sculptures in a museum and not literal triangular-shaped balls of rice with some seasoning and stuffing.

“Your brother makes delicious onigiri,” Akaashi says, all of a sudden. There’s a sly edge to his voice, almost like a challenge, and the hairs on Atsumu’s forearms stand up.

“He does. It’s the best in Japan.”

“Do you cook, Atsumu-kun?”

“I don’t have time for that.” Atsumu reaches over and snatches an onigiri, mouth beginning to water before he even gets a chance to take a bite. “I _am_ a pro athlete, ya` know.”

“If you’re so busy being a professional athlete, how do you expect to balance going on dates?” Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “You can’t just expect for time to show up your schedule, do you?”

“How do _you_ manage to show up to MSBY practice every single morning, despite looking like you crawled into a grave and fell asleep there the night before?” Atsumu, never one to turn down a challenge, speaks between bites. He uses a napkin to catch stray grains of rice that catch at the corners of his mouth, not caring if he looks like a disgusting slob as he eats. Osamu was always the one who has good table manners, and it looks like Akaashi is the same. As long as it gets in Atsumu’s stomach, he’s not one to care much for manners.

“I’m being serious, you know,” Akaashi says. He pauses to swallow a bite of steaming rice. “Oh. This is wonderful.” Atsumu nods in agreement. “You should just tell Sakusa how you feel.”

Atsumu shakes his head so hard that a stray grain of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth goes flying off. Akaashi wrinkles his nose in disgust but doesn’t say anything. “We already discussed this, Kaashi. It’s not happening.”

“I think you’d be surprised.”

“‘Cause ya know everythin’, is that so?”

“If being able to read people is _everything._ ” Akaashi wipes his fingers on the napkin and brushes at the rice that sticks to his delicate lips. “I actually believe Sakusa-san is more than willing to at least entertain the thought of dating you, or kissing you, or whatever it is that you have in mind with him.”

Atsumu’s cheeks flare at the thought of kissing Sakusa Kiyoomi. “What makes ya think that?”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“Kind of like my feeling about how you’re totally in love with Bo-kun?”

Akaashi pauses. For a second, Atsumu wonders if he’s about to get assassinated right here, right now.

But Akaashi does not flip out. He wipes his fingers on a napkin and sighs, posture still completely posed, and says, in a matter-of-fact statement of defeat, “You are correct.”

Okay, so he’s admitting it. Although there’d be no use denying it when everyone knows that the two idiots are in love with each other and neither of them are able to see that the feelings are requited. “I know ya don’t believe that he’s in love with ya, too,” Atsumu holds up a finger to stop Akaashi when he opens his mouth in protest, “but I can prove that he is. And I can prove that yer both wastin’ yer time pining after each other when ya could be having yer passionate twenty-somethings love affair.”

“How do you manage to make everything sound scandalous?” Akaashi mutters. “It’s really a talent.”

“Date me.”

“I already said no.”

“Please?”

“The presence of a ‘please’ doesn’t make your request any more appealing.”

“Date me, but not for real—I like ya, Kaashi, but I don’t think we’d be a good fit for each other—and I’ll bet five onigiris from Onigiri Miya that Bo-kun will come confessing to you in less than a month.”

“You can’t just bribe me with food,” Akaashi says, but his gaze averts from behind his glasses.

“On the contrary…” Atsumu gestures to the plate in front of them and waves his onigiri in Akaashi’s face. He scowls and slaps it away.

Atsumu thinks Akaashi’s face microscopically softens with pity. Atsumu doesn’t really believe in pity—it’s a waste of time, honestly—and he isn’t someone that often gets a lot of pity. People get irritated to him far more often than they feel bad for him, and Atsumu prefers it that way, but if pity gets him Akaashi’s agreement, he’ll take advantage of it.

“I’m desperate, Kaashi. I need yer help.”

“So you’re trying to convince Sakusa to date you…by pretending to date someone else.”

“Just—can ya just do me this one favor?”

A war wages inside of Akaashi. Atsumu has to hold in his laughter at his emotionally constipated expression. Akaashi Keiji is a good man, and Atsumu feels a bit bad playing him like this. Osamu glances over at the pair, an accusation squeezed in between his narrowed gaze, but Atsumu waves him off with the flip of his middle finger.

“I’ll bet _you_ five onigiris that Sakusa-san will say something in less than a month,” Akaashi finally rebuts.

Atsumu’s heart flips. He imagines being swept off his feet in the same sort of passionate love affair he prescribed to Bokuto and Akaashi. Although, Sakusa is likely not the type to sweep anyone of their feet, let alone Atsumu. _Manhandle_ would be a better term. _Verbal manhandling_ would be the most accurate. “You got yerself a deal, Kaashi-kun.”

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> so how does this work
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> How does what work?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> fake dating
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> What.
> 
> You’re the one who wanted to do it.
> 
> You figure it out.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ur a feisty one, kaashi. i’ll give ya that
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Miya, you are really testing my patience.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> uhoh
> 
> if u use that tone on me
> 
> u might make me fall in love with ya
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> I’m blocking you.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> WAIT
> 
> ok
> 
> come to the gym after work
> 
> tomorrow
> 
> im going to make an announcement
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Tomorrow?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ya shoyo and i need to dip right after practice today
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> For what?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> don’t ask questions if ur not ready for the answers
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Atsumu what are you doing to Hinata
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> why does everyone keep asking me that??!?!?!!??!?
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Seriously?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> seriously!!!!!
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Because Hinata = good.
> 
> You = bad.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> omg stop flirting with me kaashi
> 
> u know i love a good math problem
> 
> (´▽`ʃƪ)♡
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> LEAVE ME ALONE I’M AT WORK.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> teehee.

* * *

Atsumu hadn’t really thought it through. Well, he doesn’t think a lot of things through, and this is probably something he should’ve considered well before the current moment. He is cooling down on the court, the floor sticky underneath him, stretching out his hamstrings.

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep your eyes to yourself?” Sakusa’s cutting tone bites through the humid air.

“I can’t stop staring,” Hinata says. He flips over onto his back and pulls one knee towards his chest. His head is tilted backwards so he can watch as Sakusa stretches out his wrists, one at a time. “It’s like, the longer I look at it, the weirder it gets.”

“Get used to it.”

“I’ve known ya forever, and I’m still not used to it.” Atsumu cannot resist chiming in. He figures this is why Sakusa strongly dislikes him.

Hinata nods. “I don’t think I’ll get used to it either.”

“I don’t think I’ll get used to either of you,” Sakusa mutters.

“If Meian catches you being all snarky,” Adriah warns, “you’ll be forced to hold hands with them. _‘We need to act like a team,’_ that kind of garbage.”

Sakusa physically recoils.

“That happened to me when I was in high school,” Hinata adds. “Except I didn’t have to hold hands. Daichi-san kicked me and Kageyama out of the gym…”

Atsumu wonders if Sakusa would physically recoil from him. He refrains from any and all physical contact with Sakusa for a few reasons. The primary reason is because Sakusa seems to have some sort of repulsion from touching and being touched; Atsumu noticed it for the first time when they played against one another in the Interhigh finals while in high school. Every time Itachiyama scored, their team members would give each other slaps on the back, high fives, fist bumps, even a couple of hugs—but not to Sakusa. Sakusa only got thumbs up and verbal affirmations, despite easily scoring the most number of points out of all the attackers on his team.

Atsumu may be an asshole, but he can respect boundaries, usually. He’s more likely to cross lines when it comes to flirtatious or snarky remarks than physical boundaries. But he thinks about the _what if_ possibility of Sakusa accepting (or rejecting) even just a handshake. Or a handhold.

And, because Sakusa is currently bending his wrists back at extreme angles, Atsumu wonders if his fingers are as flexible as his other joints. If he let them go limp, would his fingers hang there like noodles? Does he have some sort of rubbery joint disease? Has he gotten it checked out by the doctors?

“Atsumu-kun.”

A firm yet gentle voice breaks through Atsumu’s rabbit-hole of thoughts, and he turns his head to find Akaashi staring down at him. He doesn’t look happy—well, Akaashi doesn’t look happy, ever. In fact, in the time that he’s known him, Atsumu has seen Akaashi smile, it has overwhelmingly and singularly been when he’s with Akaashi.

“Kaashi! Ya made it.”

“Akaashi-san!”

“Hi, Akaashi.”

“We missed you at practice today!”

As his teammates greet Akaashi with far more enthusiasm than Atsumu gets when he enters the building, Atsumu scrambles to his feet. He gets a dirty look from Sakusa, who does that every time anyone ends post-practice stretches early (mostly Atsumu, Bokuto, and Hinata). “Hey. Didja have time to grab a snack after work?”

“No. I had a late lunch today.” Akaashi pushes up his glasses higher up on his nose, and his eyes wander around the gym.

Atsumu suppresses a smirk, because he knows exactly who he’s looking for. He’s beginning to see now that Akaashi does not wear his heart on his sleeve. The only place he allows it to show, with the tiniest sliver of vulnerability, is in his eyes. “That’s great! I’ll cook ya somethin’ good when we get back to my place.”

The gymnasium elapses into a deafening silence. Atsumu’s cheeks warm, but he attributes it to the fact that Meiam made him end with suicide sprints because he’d been late this morning.

“That would be nice,” Akaashi says a he shifts his bag over a shoulder.

“Since when do you cook, Miya?” Inunaki grins in a _I’m totally calling you out on your shit_ way.

“I haven’t seen you cook anything but instant noodles and sandwiches,” Oliver adds.

“Sandwiches don’t even require cooking. Just assembling.”

“Atsumu-san made me onigiri once!” Hinata chimes in, always the one who never teases—at least not on purpose. Atsumu’s always had a soft spot for him, fascinated by his performance on the court.

“You sure that wasn’t his brother?”

Inunaki looks pointedly at Hinata. “It probably was.”

Hinata thinks about it. His large eyes scrunch as he considers the possibility. “Oh. You might be right.”

“I’ve never seen you spend a moment adding to a kitchen,” Sakusa says in his sardonic, non-malevolent tone of his. He speaks like he’s in court, reciting an affidavit in the most impartial and unbiased way possible. “Only subtracting.”

“Do any of you losers know when to _shut up_?” Atsumu groans.

“As long as you’re trying to look cool,” Inunaki says, “no.”

“Atsumu-kun is learning how to cook.” Akaashi surprises him by the easy admission of a white lie, one that makes him seem more noble than he actually is and, somehow, just by speaking those words out loud, Atsumu takes it as truth.

 _Yup. I’m definitely learning how to cook. I’ve been meaning to all along. It’s a skill that’s been lacking and now I’m trying my best to get better_.

Akaashi has a certain kind of power, Atsumu decides. The kind of power that turns everything that comes out of his mouth into a fact.

“Are you teaching him?” Hinata brightens. “Or is your brother?”

Akaashi glances over at Atsumu. “I am.”

“Wow! That sounds so fun! Maybe I can—”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto jumps out of nowhere, having gone to chat with Coach Samson about his serving skills. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

Atsumu has a smug moment of pride when this piques his teammates interest, since they’d noticed, too, that these two idiots have been practically dating for the entire time they’ve known each other.

“Bokuto-san. I—” In a rare occasion, Akaashi trips on his words, and he clears his throat to brush the fumble off to the side. “Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

 _Ugh_. Akaashi is supposed to be fake-dating Atsumu. Not making literal fucking heart eyes at Bokuto.

He has to fix that before the damage is irreparable—no one will believe that they’re fake dating if Akaashi keeps looking at Bokuto like _that_. Like he’s the first person he wants to wake up to and the last face he wants to see before falling asleep. Like Akaashi wants to kiss Bokuto while simultaneously memorializing Bokuto’s face in museums.

Atsumu wants to, desperately, look at someone like that. And more selfishly, Atsumu wants to be looked at like that—like he’s the only one in the world that matters.

“Kaashi came here to visit me today,” Atsumu interrupts. He slings an arm around Akaashi’s neck, who stumbles beneath the weight. Akaashi isn’t a small man by any means—Atsumu would guess he’s around six feet tall, give or take a centimeter, but he’s slender and lacks the thick musculature that Atsumu has, plus theres the extra couple of inches Atsumu has on him. He doesn’t have to see Akaashi’s face to know that he’s scowling.

Bokuto’s eyebrow furrow just the slightest bit. He doesn’t look upset. Just confused. As does the entirety of the MSBY Black Jackals team.

“We’re gonna—”

“He came to _what_ now?” Inunaki crosses his arms.

“He came to—”

“Are you being held against your will, Akaashi-san?” Adriah gets up close to Akaashi’s face, who stiffens from the sudden proximity. “Here, you don’t need to say it out loud. Blink once, if yes. Blink twice, if no.”

“Can ya lay off?” Atsumu shoves Adriah away and releases Akaashi, who rubs at his neck. “I’m not holdin’ him against his will or anythin’.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ya guys never believe me!”

“I am not being held against my will,” Akaashi confirms. Atsumu thinks he hears him mutter the word _yet_ at the end, but he isn’t completely sure.

“Does this have to do with…” Bokuto’s voice falters. He clears his throat. “Yesterday?”

Ah, yes. Yesterday would be an excellent reference to make, since Atsumu had already mentioned he was asking Akaashi out on a date. “Yup, yup. Now’s a good time to announce to y’all that Kaashi-kun ’n I are dating.”

The silence in the Black Jackals’ gymnasium rings. Even Hinata, the most gullible member, stares in shock. Akaashi shifts on his heels and begins to fiddle with his fingers.

Atsumu risks a glance at Sakusa, and finds him shooting lasers at him. The hairs on his arms and neck stand up on its end as Sakusa’s eyes narrow, mouth in a grim line, as he inevitably analyses the probability that a respectable, honest man like Akaashi—who happens to be incredibly in love with Bokuto—would ever date a brat like Atsumu.

If Sakusa doesn’t believe Atsumu could date a man like Akaashi, then he’s sure that Sakusa also would never date a man like Atsumu.

The realization crushes him more than he thought it would.

“Oh,” Bokuto says in a very, very small voice.

The tense moment is shattered by Adriah, who says, “So Akaashi _is_ being held against his will.”

This inspires an eruption of laughter, but Atsumu shakes it off with a roll of his eyes. He thinks maybe he can drive the point home by slipping his hand into Akaashi’s, but they haven’t quite discussed what sort of boundaries they’re willing to push. Atsumu also hasn’t held hands with anyone since his high school boyfriend (which lasted a mere two months).

Akaashi’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, unfazed by the lively banter surrounding them. “I’m sorry, I need to take this call. Atsumu-kun, I’ll meet you outside after you’re done.”

“See ya, babe.”

Akaashi gives him a flat look. _Babe_ definitely overdid it, but no one seems to notice.

Atsumu notices Bokuto staring after Akaashi’s retreating figure while he picks up the phone, polite and respectable, as always. He feels a little bad—Atsumu knows the sting of having unrequited feelings. But the temporary pain is only temporary, and he gives it one, two weeks tops before Bokuto finally blurts out that he doesn’t want Akaashi to be dating anyone but him.

“Miya, what was _that_?”

“Don’t tell me you’re being serious.”

“Since when do you and Akaashi-san get along?”

“I didn’t realize you were gay. Congrats.”

“I’m not gay.” Atsumu chooses to respond to the one question that he can answer truthfully. He’s gotten himself into shit before, by elaborating on lies by lying even more, and he’s learned to reign it in a bit. “Didn’t _any_ of ya know that I had a boyfriend in high school?”

“Why would any of us care about your high school dating life,” Sakusa says, sans question mark at the end, sans teasing lilt to his voice. Just Sakusa being Sakusa, uninterested in the latest drama to spring out from their team.

“Wait, but when did you and Akaashi-san start dating? Did you always have a crush on him?”

Atsumu waves off the questions and rolls out his shoulder as he heads to the locker room to shower. His teammates stay behind, no doubt to gossip with one another, and Atsumu fully expects that they’ll continue to pester him later.

Once in the privacy of the locker room, Atsumu pulls off his shirt and tosses it into his locker, nose crinkling at the unsavory sensation of the wet cloth peeling away from his body. He pauses to check his phone.

> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Ugh.

As Atsumu begins to type a cheeky response, he jumps in surprise upon the realization that he is not alone in the room.

“I don’t know what you’re up to,” Sakusa says in a flat voice, “but we have our first official match of the season in two weeks.”

The metal of the locker creaks as Sakusa opens the door to rummage through for his signature shampoo (it smells like lavender) and body wash (it smells like cucumber). “Thank you for your concern, Omi Omi,” Atsumu says. “But if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been in tip-top shape lately. I’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

Atsumu pauses. Sakusa doesn’t look at him while he begins to strip, and Atsumu has to try very, very hard not to look anywhere but Sakusa’s face.

His face is iron, even more than Akaashi’s. Where Akaashi’s weakness is Bokuto and always has been, Sakusa's cousin has said it himself: Sakusa Kiyoomi has virtually no weak points. That may have applied to Sakusa as a volleyball player, but it also describes him as a person, too. Atsumu, on the other hand, feels like he is all weakness, especially when Sakusa glances at him from the corner of his eye, lingering for half a second longer than usual, before he shakes his head and faces his locker again.

Atsumu almost dies when Sakusa takes off his shorts, and he averts his gaze until Sakusa securely fits a towel low around his hips. It's embarrassing. Like he's a horny and awkward fifteen-year-old again who has never seen another naked person.

“Is this about me and Kaashi?” Atsumu tests, eyes still up towards the ceiling.

“You’ll distract the whole team.”

“So, yes.”

“It’s unnecessary to bring drama into practice.”

Atsumu crosses his arm and leans against the cool metal of the locker between them, his skin prickling at the fact that this is the closest he has ever stood near Sakusa Kiyoomi. It’s not unusual for Atsumu and his teammates to prance around the locker room butt naked. But it’s unusual for any of them to even dare to approach Sakusa without proper clothing and cleanliness.

“Don’t tell me yer jealous, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu’s breath fails to come out of his mouth as Sakusa fully turns to face him. Atsumu is used to being one of the tallest people in the room, but Sakusa manages to shrink him down with the height he has on him and the crippling gaze of his. He refuses to break eye contact.

For a few tense seconds, it almost seems like something will actually happen. Or maybe that’s just Atsumu’s wishful thinking.

_Don’t ya wanna kiss me, Omi-omi?_

But Sakusa doesn’t take the bait, or he doesn’t even _notice_ the bait. Or maybe he just ignores it. Instead, Sakusa slams his locker door shut.

“You're ridiculous.”

Sakusa walks out, leaving Atsumu in a daze of confusion that rocks him so hard that he forgets to take a shower.

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> So ur dating fukurodani setter now?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> who told u
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> Evidently not you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i bet it was shoyo
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> “Gee samu, sorry for not telling u earlier”
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> fck off ive been busy
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> Busy scheming?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> im not scheming
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> Liar
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> leave me alone
> 
> be gay do crime, as the youths say
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> 🙄
> 
> Don’t be an idiot, tsumu
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> mind ur own business
> 
> dont be jealous just cuz i have a hot bf
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> 🖕

* * *

> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)👍🏻 ❓
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ‼️(○^Ε＾○)

* * *

> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> you should go on a double date with me and kageyama sometime!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

* * *

> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Why is everyone on your team sending me this?
> 
> _Akaashi Keiji has shared a link_ : [How to Deal with Blackmail (with Pictures)](https://www.wikihow.com/Deal-With-Blackmail)
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> im gonna kill all of them
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> 😂
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> oh my god did you just use an emoji
> 
> im screenshooting this and saving it forever
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> I text like a normal person, Atsumu.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> nah ur formality shows even in messages
> 
> speaking of messages
> 
> has bokun talked to ya yet
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> No.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> hm. interesting
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Why
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> time to orchestrate my master plan
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> You do not orchestrate.
> 
> You instigate.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> u will thank me later
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> No, you will give me 5 onigiris later.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> challenge accepted

* * *

> **Inunaki Shion**
> 
> So how much did you pay Akaashi to date you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> f u inu

* * *

For Atsumu, nothing really changes. Aside from the influx of messages and questions from the nosiest assholes he knows (see also: his teammates), Atsumu does what he always does: he wakes up. He goes to practice. He does a series of interviews with Buzzfeed Japan. He shitposts on social media—recently he’s infiltrated the Twitter “stan” circle that follows V. League religiously—and has phone calls with his managers about an upcoming sponsorship with Nike. On Thursday, Atsumu visits Osamu at his shop, and Friday, he takes the bus back to have dinner at his parents’ house.

But mostly, things stay the same, as Atsumu stretches out across the couch after a lazy Sunday, multitasking by aimlessly switching channels on TV while simultaneously scrolling through social media. He sees a post Sakusa shared on Instagram of one of the canals that run through Osaka, illuminated by the city lights. _It isn’t Tokyo_ , the caption reads, _but I think I’m beginning to appreciate this area._

Atsumu likes the photo and begins to type in a comment before deciding not to. He keeps scrolling to catch a glimpse of what his friends did over the weekend and has to conscientiously squash down the urge to snap a picture of Akaashi in his apartment.

Akaashi Keiji. In _his_ apartment. Without Bokuto around.

Weird.

Atsumu had wanted to stir the pot by posting pictures with him and Akaashi on social media, but Akaashi remains adamant on a few things, this included. The first is that he has requested no kissing, and minimal public displays of affection. Which is fair, and honestly, Atsumu has no desire to kiss someone who will wind up kissing Bokuto, anyway.

The second is that he wants to keep their ‘affair’—or whatever it’s called—private. Not that it's entirely private, of course, since the entire MSBY Black Jackals and affiliated friends (such as Osamu) know, which gives Atsumu free reign over sending casual pictures of their ‘dates’ to the MSBY group chat (so far, most of their dates involve food, since it’s the only way Atsumu can convince Akaashi to step away from work).

(And because Atsumu cannot cook, he is forking over significantly more money for takeout and delivery.)

(Which makes him almost relieved that he’s single, because having a significant other—even if it’s a fake relationship—is really fucking expensive).

Akaashi, does still agree to ‘spend time’ with Atsumu, if ‘spending time’ meant responding to email and sifting through sample pages, because apparently life as a manga editor does not offer work-life balance.

“C’mon, Kaashi. You’ve been starin’ at yer screen for the past two hours.” Atsumu picks his head off the couch, where he’s sprawled out and scrolling through the channels. Akaashi sits at the dining room table, half a bowl of curry left beside him, probably cold now.

“So have you.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m moving them away from my phone every once in a while.”

“You’ve been switching between your phone and the TV. Neither is good for you.”

“Aren’t yer eyes strained? Yer gonna burn out yer retinas.”

“Too late,” Akaashi mutters, and he holds up a finger when Atsumu tries to say more. Atsumu waits patiently as his fingers continue clacking on the keyboard.

“Yer right.” Atsumu rolls onto his stomach and faces Akaashi. “It _is_ too late, Kaashi-kun. It’s almost ten.”

“I have to—”

“When didja realize you were in love with Bo-kun?”

Atsumu blurts it out before even considering the fact that he and Akaashi are not friends. The question silences any and all further commentary Akaashi might have had as he looks up from his computer, fingers still hovering midair. Atsumu raises his eyebrows, expecting him to brush it off, but Akaashi simply folds his hands and sets them on the table. He bites his lip as he all but frowns, strongly considering it, and Atsumu certainly hadn’t been expecting the mood to change like _that_ all of a sudden.

“I think I’ve always known,” Akaashi answers simply. It’s a bit of a cop out answer, but coming from Akaashi, it is perhaps the most sincere answer he could have provided.

“But when—”

“There was this time after graduating that Bokuto-san and I met up.” Akaashi takes a deep breath, a gentle, wistful expression creeping across his usually stoic features. “It was right after Inarizaki beat us in the Spring Tournament when we were third years. I was upset about it. Bokuto-san came all the way to Tokyo for the day and bought me lunch and dinner cheer me up.”

Atsumu wants to say, _That sounds romantic—why aren’t you dating already?_ But he restrains himself. Part of him is enraptured by the gentleness of Akaashi’s words. He always thought love was full of grand gestures, but the conviction with which Akaashi speaks is softer than that. As if love found its way nestled into the quiet moments of breathing.

“I’d always admired him for the presence he has in a game. And I definitely had a crush on him in high school, although half the time it felt like I was just managing him and his mood swings.” Akaashi smiles fondly. “But when we sat in the park eating taiyaki talking about what I was doing after graduating, that’s when I realized that my feelings towards him weren’t just because of who he was on the court.”

Atsumu nods. He feels small, in the way someone might get when they realize there is so, so much more to learn about the world. He wonders if he’ll ever have that one day, if he’ll be able to look at someone and not conflate it to his passion for volleyball. Atsumu’s mild crush on Sakusa (okay, maybe not so mild) pales in comparison to Akaashi’s feelings for Bokuto.

“That’s cute, Kaashi,” Atsumu says, and he means it. Akaashi’s eyes widen in surprise at the sincerity. “What? I can be nice.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Hey!”

Akaashi purses his lips. Then, a simple, “Thank you,” comes out, and now it’s Atsumu’s turn to be surprised. In a strange twist of events, Atsumu realizes that, perhaps, he’s on his way to becoming friends with Akaashi Keiji. Assuming he doesn’t fuck up Akaashi’s chances with the love of his life. But no pressure.

* * *

Akaashi turns up to morning practices as usual. He informs Atsumu privately that he and Bokuto still text, but Bokuto hasn’t been nearly as needy as he usually is. When confronted by members of the Black Jackals and even Akaashi himself about his depressed mood, Bokuto vehemently denies it.

“It’s ‘cause he’s _in love with you_ ,” Atsumu emphasizes over a shared cup of coffee after one of his morning practices.

“No. It’s because he’s respectful.” Akaashi scrunches his nose, as he’s prone to do. Atsumu has begun to pick up on those little things. “Unlike some people.”

“What other explanation would there be?”

“It’s Bokuto-san. He gets mood swings all the time.”

“Yer an idiot, Akaashi.”

“Atsumu.”

“Yer smart, but yer an idiot.”

And thus, nothing happens the way Atsumu had anticipated. Bokuto does not challenge Atsumu publicly nor does he confess to Akaashi. Akaashi does not confront Bokuto’s evasiveness, chalking it up to respecting boundaries.

After hearing an earful from Meian about maintaining a smooth sailing team dynamic by carefully selecting _timing_ , Atsumu catches Bokuto anxiously glancing at Akaashi every five seconds.

Which would be fine if they had not just started practicing serve-receives.

Which ends with Bokuto receiving a spike serve with his forehead.

* * *

“It’s been a while since ‘emo-mode Bokuto’ showed up, huh?” The following Wednesday, Hinata comments on Bokuto’s slumped over posture as he receives a lecture from Coach Foster. A dripping icepack covers his head. Akaashi is not here to distract, but Bokuto’s mind is still not present. “You think he’ll be okay for our match next week?”

“He’d better be.” Meian crosses his arms. Despite being a nationally renown middle blocker, Atsumu has always had the sense that Meian is something of a glorified babysitter.

“I haven’t seen him this bad since we were in high school training camp together.”

“And who’s fault is _that_?” Sakusa says. He throws an accusatory glare for good measure at Atsumu.

“Seriously, Miya, you couldn’t have waited until the season was over to distract him?” Oliver squeezes the crown of Atsumu’s head, and Atsumu yelps, trying to swat him away. It’s about as effective as attempting to move an oak tree. “You need to think these things through.”

“Wadaya mean? I’m just livin’ my life with my sexy new boyfriend.”

In an offhanded comment under his breath—though totally still audible by _everyone_ around him—Adriah remarks, “I bet they’re faking it to make Bokuto jealous.”

Atsumu tenses, but no one seems to notice.

No one, that is, except Sakusa.

“Wait a second—”

“Omi-kun, couldja try hittin’ some of my tosses? Since Bokuto’s unavailable.”

Sakusa makes a face that indicates he definitely does mind, but Atsumu shoos him to a separate court.

“What was _that_?” Sakusa demands.

“Don’t ask about things ya don’t wanna know ‘bout.”

“Don’t tell me you’re doing this as a _joke_.”

“Just hit a toss, will ya?”

“No.”

“Why—”

“ _Look_ at him. You can’t seriously think messing around with his emotions was a good idea.” Sakusa gestures at Bokuto’s direction. He has a blank expression on his face as he hangs his head down, and Atsumu does feel a pang of apology course through his chest. “It’s so easy to call your bluff, by the way. You’re lucky Bokuto’s too much of an honest person to fall for it.”

“It’s not a bluff—”

“I swear to God, Miya.” Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose, which means that this is serious, because Sakusa Kiyoomi _never_ touches his face; there are too many germs; he could inadvertently give himself an eye infection.

“I’m just tryna help out a friend!”

“You’re meddling. Not helping.”

“Bo-kun just needs the extra push—”

“ _This_ is pushing?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Atsumu demands. “Besides, Kaashi agreed to it!”

Atsumu neglects to add the crucial detail that Akaashi only agreed to it because Akaashi felt bad about the whole Sakusa thing. Sakusa squints at Atsumu like he always does, and Atsumu is about two seconds away from spiking a ball at him just to divert his attention.

“If you wanted to help him so bad,” Sakusa says, “wouldn’t it have been easier to just tell Akaashi he’s just ignoring the obvious signs that Bokuto-san is in love with him?”

“Well—”

“You don’t think things through.”

“It’s only been a week—”

“Do you really think Bokuto-san is the the type of person to respond like that? He’s not even jealous. He’s sad.”

“I’m working on it, alright? Lay off me.” Atsumu sighs. He tosses the ball up and spikes it at Sakusa, who bumps it easily despite the sudden movement. The first few times they attempted to match up with one another, Atsumu kept messing up because he let himself get distracted by the brilliant curve of Sakusa’s back as he jumps, and the fine lines in the curve of his calves. But now, it’s muscle memory.

“I _knew_ it was fake,” Sakusa mumbles after he sends the ball neatly into the back corner of the court. “I just don’t get _why_.”

“And if it wasn’t?” Atsumu drawls. “Wouldja be able to accept if it turned out Kaashi-kun was into me after all?”

Sakusa stares. His eyes—an inky, metallic black—bore into Atsumu’s skull.

“No.” He speaks with the same tone he uses to admonish his teammates for attempting to drag him into their shenanigans. Before Atsumu can issue a flirtatious remark requesting an elaboration, Sakusa continues, “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

“About what?”

“About them, moron. If this continues, Bokuto-san is gonna be benched next week. That won’t be good for us. Fix it.”

“I’ll just ask Bo-kun if he’s got a problem with Kaashi and me bein’ together. And he’ll tell me that he’s not, and then I’ll end things with Kaashi, and Bo-kun can finally have his happily ever after.”

Sakusa pauses his commentary to hit another clean spike. “That’s it?”

“Uh…” It sounded like a good theory, and one that Atsumu felt pretty good about. He’d been hoping that Bokuto would use it as an opportunity to come out and confess his feelings to Atsumu, to which he could assure him that he wouldn’t be insulted if Akaashi chose Bokuto over him. But the way Sakusa’s looking at him makes him rethink it. “Yes?”

“You’re an idiot,” Sakusa mumbles. He shakes his head, curls swinging back and forth. “Were you planning on telling him you and Akaashi are fake dating?”

“...No?”

Based on Sakusa’s expression, that must have been the wrong answer.

“I mean, if it’s not relevant to bring up—”

“I think Bokuto is the kind of guy who wouldn’t date his friend’s ex.”

“How wouldja know that?”

Sakusa shrugs. Despite his general coldness to the team, Atsumu realizes that Sakusa knows a lot more than he lets on. “It’s Bokuto.”

“Fine, Mr. Know-It-All. What’s _yer_ suggestion, then?”

Sakusa considers it. His typically pouty mouth is drawn into a taut, thin line, and Atsumu can’t tell if he’s disappointed or annoyed. “You’re going to have to tell him it’s all fake,” Sakusa answers.

“I can’t _do_ that.”

“You’ve done stupider things before.”

“But that’s embarrassing for Kaashi-kun.” Atsumu frowns.

“Then give him another reason that you decided to lie about it.” Sakusa flings a volleyball up in an arch, and Atsumu sets it easily for him to spike. “Or you can give him an alternative reason that you decided to fake-date Akaashi-kun that doesn’t involve you being a jerk.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know. You’re trying to attract media attention. You want to get some other person pursuing you to leave you alone.You want to make someone _else_ jealous.” Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Use your brain for once, Miya.”

Atsumu bounces a volleyball against the ground, each _tmp tmp tmp_ keeping up with the heavy rhythm building in his chest as he processes Sakusa’s words. Because if he’s heard right, Sakusa has just presented him with a very, very interesting opportunity. And the last thing Atsumu wants is to let opportunity slip through his fingertips.

“Wadaya say then, Omi-kun?” Atsumu gives him a shit-eating grin. “Wanna be my fake boyfriend so I can dump my other fake boyfriend?”

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> so
> 
> i’ll set u and bokun up
> 
> watch me work my magic
> 
> that’s why they call me the love doctor, after all
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> No one calls you that.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> rude
> 
> but really i got this
> 
> just trust me kaashi
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> I don’t trust you.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i can smell the onigiri now (✿￣‿￣✿)
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> …

* * *

His plan requires two final steps.

The first step comes in his second announcement.

“Listen up, ya jerks.”

The team, gathered in the locker room post-practice, don’t pay him any notice.

“I _said_ , listen _up,_ ya jerks!”

“Why do you demand so much attention, Miya?” Meian sighs, but it’s enough to finally get his teammates to at least look at him and pause all side conversations. “Don’t you get tired of hearing yourself speak?”

Atsumu flips him off before placings his hand on his hips in a power pose, straightening his back and puffing up his chest—something that would probably look intimidating if he weren’t only wearing a pair of boxer briefs with foxes printed on them. “I got an announcement to make.”

“Can you please put on some clothes first?”

“Shut yer trap. I got an announcement to make.”

“What is it, Tsumu-kun?” Hinata, bless his soul, is bright-eyed and interested in what Atsumu has to say.

Atsumu inhales deeply. He glances up for the briefest moment to make eye contact with Sakusa—who promptly sticks his head in his locker to search for something to busy himself with other than Atsumu’s ridiculous shenanigans. “When I said Kaashi-kun and I were datin’ I was lying.”

The room goes silent.

Even Bokuto is silent, as he has been the past two weeks.

“I—”

“Hold on, let’s back up for a second.” Inunaki frowns and glances over at Oliver, who looks just as confused. “Why would you lie about that?”

“Because I wanted the attention of someone else who wouldn’t give me the time of day.” Atsumu takes a deep breath. “I’m dating Sakusa now.”

If possible, the silence sinks in deeper than before. They’d already agreed upon this before—Sakusa, because he has a functioning brain and he’s concerned about the well-being of the team; Atsumu, because he’s an idiot—yet it doesn’t evaporate the nerves that have bloomed under Atsumu’s skin.

“You’re…dating Sakusa?” Meiank blinks.

“Yup, yup. I did it because I’m a petty bitch, and I wanted the attention of Sakusa Kiyoomi. I thought maybe he’d hafta speak up because he got all jealous or somethin’, so imagine my reaction when it actually worked!”

“So all the times you hung out with Akaashi-san,” Hinata starts.

“A lie. I mean, we hung out sometimes, ya know? But my heart was set on Omi Omi from the get-go. Right, Omi-kun?”

Atsumu shoots Sakusa his trademark smile—the one that he throws to adoring fans he desperately wishes would just shut up every now and then. Although there’s nothin but ease translated to him, the inside of Atsumu’s chest just goes, _please don’t say anything please don’t recoil please don’t ruin my lie._ Because what scares Atsumu the most is the fact that this _isn’t_ a lie, that he _did_ want Sakusa’s attention, that he _is_ a petty bitch.

Sakusa glares back with about the same amount of enthusiasm as he feels when the MSBY Black Jackals pile onto a bus for an extended training camp. “Yes,” he finally says, and if it were anyone but Sakusa, it would be a complete and utter _lie_. But it’s Sakusa, the man who cannot help but tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, even if it comes at the expense of crumbling pleasant interpersonal relationships with other people.

Another thick silence.

Then an outburst.

One minute Atsumu is holding his breath, wondering what the fuck is going on; the next minute, Atsumu is being shouted at in the face by two different men nearly half a foot taller than him, not to mention the intimidating presence of Meian and Inunaki, who are currently doing their damn nearest to occupy every corner of Atsumu’s five senses. Atsumu feels overwhelmed—which is saying something, considering the amount of chaos he thrives in.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Atsumu crosses his arms, still naked except his underwear. He thinks, in the dustiest corner of his mind, that he’s probably starting to sweat from all the eyes on him. “One at a time, please.

“What kind of this immature scheming is this? Are you in high school?” Inunaki teases, moving over to ruffle Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu swats his hand away, tries to put on a scowling expression, but he finds that his smile is so wide that he can’t contain it.

Atsumu can’t help it. He’s a self-centered brat. He wants to be the center of attention, whether its on the court or off the court, whether he’s running errands or catching up with an old friend. Sakusa, however, is the opposite—he shrinks into his locker, rummaging through to find his clothes, camouflaging himself in the ordinary so that the MSBY Black Jackals don’t begin to invade his personal space with unsolicited questions and commentary.

He shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does, staring at the ridges of Sakusa’s rear delts all the way down to the precise dip of his waist. But he does.

And it’s a problem.

“Omi-san confessed to you?”

“How the hell did you manage to rope Akaashi-kun into _that_?”

“I can’t believe you actually pulled it off, you sneaky bastard.”

Hinata asks the real questions, bright and starry-eyed, always seeing the best in every person and every situation. “How’d it happen?”

Atsumu pretends to consider it for a moment. Meanwhile, Sakusa’s inky black eyes are digging into his skull and he has to conscientiously make an effort to stop himself from squirming under Sakusa’s incessant stares.

“How do any of these things happen?” Atsumu says in a cheeky response. He reaches out for Sakusa who, surprisingly, lets him see an arm around his shoulders. Sakusa still isn’t wearing a shirt, and Atsumu’s fingertips burn from the section where his skin meets Sakusa’s, smooth and soft.

Atsumu gets over the lingering effect of excitement when he glances over and sees that Bokuto is staring at him, dumbfounded. Bokuto is completely naked—not even _underwear_ on—sitting on a bench, and yet the most vulnerable part of him is the part that Atsumu sees: the part that is relieved (thankful, even) that the man he is in lovee with is not _actually_ involved with one of his teammates and friends.

 _Ya hear, that, Bo-kun_? Atsumu thinks to himself.

Sakusa does not shake the weight of Atsumu’s arm off of him, and perhaps he really is that good of an actor, but Atsumu cannot shake that feeling of the surface of his skin. He enjoys it while he can, because in the next couple of weeks, he knows that this paradise will end. In fact, he’s so busy enjoying it that he does not realize that Sakusa does not move away.

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> sorry to break hearts
> 
> but we’re broken up now, kaashi
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Huh?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> don’t worry bout it
> 
> just keep ur eye on ur phone

* * *

The second step comes right after the first, as Atsumu chases Bokuto out of the locker room.

“Bo-kun! Wait a second!”

Bokuto turns around. He looks significantly less depressed than he did earlier, complete with relaxed shoulders and and an easygoing expression that pulls Atsumu closer and closer to genuine optimism. Atsumu doesn’t know if he’ll get there, one day, but being friends with Bokuto makes him want to try. “I wanted to talk to ya for a second.”

“Congrats on your relationship with Sakusa, Tsum Tsum!” Bokuto responds brightly. His golden eyes betray no sense of discomfort or disgust. Atsumu stuffs his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

“Ya doing okay, Bo-kun?”

Bokuto blinks and tilts his head, caught off guard by the sudden expression of concern. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ya know. Because…” Atsumu kicks at the ground. Inunaki’s commentary rings his mind from early. _What are ya, in high school?_ “I know ya like Kaashi-kun a lot.”

“W-what?” Bokuto sputters. “Of course I like Akaashi, but it’s not like—”

“Cut the crap, Bo-kun.” Atsumu rosses his arms and Bokuto nervously glances away. He has gone from overwhelming optimism to overwhelming insecurity. “I’ve known a while ya have feelings for him. The whole team does.”

Bokuto gets very, very quiet, and Atsumu holds his breath. When he finally speaks, he mutters, “The whole team?”

Atsumu nods. “The whole team.”

“I was that obvious?”

“You were _both_ obvious.”

Honestly, it surprises Atsumu that no one has confronted Bokuto about it. It’s the matter-of-fact statement that no one questions—Bokuto is head over heels in love with Akaashi, and it is reciprocated. It’s like the laws of physics: a fact, not a suggestion, not an opinion. It’s the truth.

“So I’m sorry if I made ya get worried ‘bout me and ‘Kaashi. I knew ya like him, but I still went out of my way to pretend to date him so I could make Omi-kun jealous.”

Half a truth.

“And I didn’t wantcha to feel like we were actually datin’ or anything, cuz then it would make it weird between us…”

Half a lie.

“‘Specially since I know how much you and Kaashi-kun mean to each other…”

Still a lie.

“And basically I wanted to tell ya that I know it’s probably been hard, to see us together, and I wish I coulda told ya from the start.”

Atsumu holds his breath. He is banking on the fact that Bokuto tends to take things at face value, but the result is that Bokuto will often miss out on obvious signs. Like the signs Akaashi has been sending him for the better part of the past seven years. Atsumu is hoping that Bokuto is so dense, so simple, so honest, that everything Atsumu says is complete garbage except for the words he says next.

Bokuto tilts his head, not sad, necessarily, but dumbfounded and a bit lost in what’s going on. Atsumu elaborates further, careful to select his words with the same precision he sets his tosses. “Part of the reason why I though it was time I admitted to Omi-kun everything, is ‘cause I saw how sad you were. Choosin’ Kaashi-kun for fake dating to see if Omi-kun would get jealous made sense, ‘cause there’s no way Omi Omi would believe I were dating anyone on the team. Y’know?”

“I wasn’t sad!” Bokuto exclaims. A flush creeps up his cheeks, and stump has a sudden pang of endearment. Bokuto can be a brat, sometimes, and out of control and difficult to manage, but he’s a good guy, and he deserves to be happy.

“Bo-kun, I saw you got smacked in the face with a volleyball. It’s not often something like that happens ‘cause yer not paying attention.” Bokuto opens his mouth in protest, but Atsumu cuts him off. “All I’m sayin’ is, I think ya should tell Kaashi-kun how ya really feel.”

Bokuto gets very, very quiet. So quiet, in fact, that Atsumu is worried he may have just messed up big time, and Akaashi’s gonna come after him.

“I can’t just—”

“As someone who spent a week supposedly datin’ Kaashi-kun,” Atsumu drawls, “the whole time he only had eyes for _you_.”

Bokuto slumps over a bit. There is a red welt that has begun to form on his forehead. “How do you know?” Bokuto says. He sounds like a wistful kid, and Atsumu wants to kick himself for not confronting him before about all this. He wonders if Bokuto would have been as receptive to this conversation if Akaashi hadn’t been supposedly off the market. Or if he just stirred up a bunch of shit for absolutely _no reason_.

“Go talk to him, Bo-kun,” Atsumu says as he begins to make his way out o the building. “Ya both deserve to be happy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go meet up with my brand new boyfriend.”

Atsumu leaves the gymnasium, feeling accomplished, feeling good about what will happen. His good feelings is confirmed when, five minutes later, his phone beeps.

> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> Why did Bokuto-san ask to speak to me privately?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> we’re broken up kaashi
> 
> u can’t just dm me anymore
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> I’m blocking your number.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> umeboshi
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> What?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> it’s my favorite onigiri
> 
> **Akaashi Keiji**
> 
> You seem very confident.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ✨fake it till u make it✨

* * *

As predicted, Bokuto and Akaashi walk in holding hands the next morning.

Atsumu gives them a wave. His eyes meet Akaashi’s past his gleaming glasses, and Atsumu smirks. “Let’s grab onigiri next week,” Atsumu says, and Akaashi would probably be glaring at him if he weren’t so busy beaming.

The new couple walks in easy step beside one another, not so different from before. In fact, the only distance Atsumu can tangibly see is the small part where their are physically connected, hands tangled up with each other.

Atsumu wonders if, one day, he’ll have that, too.

“Good job.” Sakusa’s muffled voice comes out of nowhere and Atsumu jumps. “You pulled his head out of his funk.”

“Yeah, I think Kaashi-kun did that.”

“No, you did.” Atsumu can feel a blush coming on, and as he’s about to spew some non-self-important bullshit, Sakusa continues, “You got him in such a mess in the first place. So it’s not even really a win.”

“But I finally got him and Akaashi together!”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. Today, he doesn’t have a mask on, and Atsumu has to force himself to stare at Akaashi and Bokuto’s figures in the distance to avoid getting caught up by Sakusa’s pouty, stupid mouth. And his pouty, stupid face. And his pouty, stupid commentary.

Atsumu nearly dies when Sakusa holds out a hand without so much as glancing in his direction. “Hurry up.”

Is he seeing things right? Is Sakusa _offering to hold his hand_?

Or maybe it’s a handshake, but that wouldn’t make sense.

“Stop staring.” Sakusa’s voice breaks through his thoughts again, and Atsumu shakes himself out of it.

“Wow, ya really into me that much, Omi Omi?” Atsumu teases. Sakusa makes a vague face of disgust (that isn’t so different from his usual expression), but before he can retract his offer to hold hands, Atsumu grabs it and intertwines his fingers with his.

“It’s only until the end of the season,” Sakusa says. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Sakusa gently pulls him in tow, towards the rest of their team, and Atsumu’s skin threatens to spontaneously combust right then and there. He’s always had strong fingers, thick and study and tough enough send tosses hurtling towards his spiker’s at speeds the human eye can’t reach. But the feel of Sakusa’s delicate hands makes him question if he even had strength to begin with.

Atsumu takes a deep breath and, joined at the hands with none other than Sakusa Kiyoomi, his fake-boyfriend and fellow teammate, he takes a step forward—one more step in the direction of knowing that he is completely, utterly in over his head.

* * *

Four months later, as the season comes to an end, Atsumu’s days become numbered as he tries to figure out how to break up with Sakusa.

He is so preoccupied by this that he doesn’t realize Sakusa doesn’t break up with him, either.


	2. Making It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa decides that fake dating Atsumu might not be so bad, but the problem is that it doesn't _feel_ fake. In fact, it feels incredibly real.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a cautious person. He takes his time with making decisions, he calculates risks, and he makes mental pros and cons lists. Sakusa takes care of himself, whether that’s by sleeping enough or eating the right food or taking walks along the river during the day to clear his mind.

But the one mistake he thinks he might have made is, of course, one that has potentially disastrous consequences, and it involves one very questionable Miya Atsumu.

Sakusa doesn’t know what compelled him, exactly, to agree to fake-dating his teammate and one of the people who piss him off the most in the world. He’d been annoyed throughout that whole conversation, actually, because how the hell could Atsumu be so careless? Didn’t he realize that Bokuto wasn’t someone who’d be able to act normal when the man he loved was dating someone else?

For someone incredibly gifted and intelligent in volleyball, Miya Atsumu sure is a dumbass.

And yet, somehow, that dumbass ropes Sakusa into Atsumu’s fuckery once more. There’s a disturbing pattern that’s begun to fester during Sakusa’s time as a member of the Black Jackals, where Atsumu will have an idea and immediately pester Sakusa until he begrudgingly tags along—like the time Atsumu convinced Sakusa to see what would happen if he dropped a match in a bathtub filled with alcohol, and a trail of toilet paper accidentally lit on fire. Or when Atsumu decided he wanted to chase after a stray cat (that turned out to be feral) and ended up in a hospital to get stitches.

Or now.

Sakusa isn’t a pushover; he knows this; his personality doesn’t let him be one. He doesn’t believe in anything other than cold-hard facts, and he often neglects tact and sensitivity for communication that is to-the-point and clear. This is how Sakusa avoids uncomfortable misunderstandings. He has earned his success thus far and the respect of others because of his honesty and his work ethic.

No one will doubt Atsumu’s work ethic, but Sakusa is wary about the varying levels of Atsumu’s honesty.

“Wadaya say then, Omi-kun? Wanna be my fake boyfriend so I can dump my other fake boyfriend?”

Sakusa’s lips curl down in what he knows is disgust, for a few reasons. The main being that Sakusa has neither the time nor the mental energy to commit to fake-dating someone as distressing as Atsumu. He wipes at the sweat that has begun to collect at his hairline from spike practice, and he takes a deep breath before opening his mouth to say no.

“Before ya say no,” Atsumu interrupts, and holy _shit_ does he ever not interrupt, “I just need ya to know that I’ll just ask someone else on our team to fake-date me instead. So really, you’d be doin’ everyone else a favor.”

“Barnes-san is married,” Sakusa rattles off in his mechanical manner, almost instinct now. “Meian is engaged. Adriah-san has been doing exclusive friends-with-benefits with that one person. Hinata is dating Kageyama. Bokuto is emotionally taken. Your other option is Inunaki-san.”

Sakusa doesn’t miss the flinch that Atsumu made an effort to stifle. It’s no secret that Inunaki will never hesitate to call Atsumu out on his bullshit. His eye twitches ever so slightly, and Sakusa knows his words hit the mark. “And?”

“So if I say no, you’ll ask Inunaki-san?”

“…yes.”

“You hesitated.”

“Shut yer trap! I’ll do it!”

“Alternatively you can ask someone else not on the team. But you don’t really see people unless you play volleyball with them. Nor would you ever have a friend that is unaffiliated with volleyball.” Sakusa rolls his eyes. He has no idea how Atsumu could possibly be bothered to speak with someone who has zero connection to volleyball.

“I have friends, ya know!”

“You mean besides Osamu and Suna?”

Atsumu huffs and sends a ball spinning up in a high arc, and Sakusa sprints into action. As much of a pain in the ass Atsumu is, his sets are solid, precise, and comfortable to adjust to. Sakusa would never admit it, but Atsumu is easily the best setter he’s ever played with.

Sakusa sends it spinning in the back corner of the court across the net. He rolls out his wrists before crossing his arms as he approaches Atsumu once more. “And what do I get out of it, Miya?”

“I’ll stop annoyin’ ya till it’s over.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Hm.” Atsumu’s eyes unfocus for a moment, and Sakusa cannot tell if he wanted to punch his face or pinch his cheeks. There are these weird moments, in between bouts of incredible irritation, where a strange fondness bloomed in Sakusa’s chest. It isn’t just Atsumu, either, whom he feels this towards. It’s his entire team. Sakusa wouldn’t be surprised if part of the reason he is so upfront with Atsumu about this whole Bokuto drama is because he hates seeing Bokuto sad, and sad for no reason, too.

That warm feeling has begun to include all his teammates, but he just notices it more with Atsumu, presumably because Atsumu has no idea how to stay away from Sakusa as he requested.

“It’ll only be til the end of the season. It’ll look weird if we start dating and immediately break up afterwards. Ya know?” Atsumu finally responds. He crosses his arms and flips his hair to the side. “I’ll buy ya a set of yer favorite disinfectant wipes.”

Sakusa shoots him a withering look.

“Okay, okay. Relax. I’m just jokin’. Anythin’ ya want, Omi Omi. I’ll do it. Ya don’t even have to answer now. But I’ll do it.” Sakusa thinks he hears Atsumu mutter under his breath, “Probably.”.

Sakusa glances over at Bokuto, who is practicing on some half-assed serves, and heaves a sigh. He _hates_ this. If he has it his way, he’d just go up to Bokuto and tell him that he’s being a coward. But Sakusa isn’t really great at navigating feelings and such, so he thinks it’s better if he leaves the mess to Atsumu to clean up. Not that Atsumu is someone to be trusted with cleaning up— _clearly_.

“Only until the end of season,” Sakusa says with as much blunt force as he can.

Atsumu’s face breaks out into a wide grin, and immediately, Sakusa regrets it.

* * *

“When I said I was datin’ Kaashi-kun I was lying.”

“I—”

“Hold on, let’s back up for a second. Why would you lie about that?”

“Because I wanted the attention of someone else who wouldn’t give me the time of day.” Atsumu’s voice takes on a brighter, even more smug tone—which naturally pisses Sakusa off—and he stiffens at the next sentence. “I’m dating Sakusa now.”

Sakusa, for a moment, wishes the MSBY Black Jackals locker room would always be as silent as it is now.

“You’re…dating Sakusa?” Meian’s voice hitches slightly in the middle of the sentence, like he is afraid he’s spreading misinformation by asking a question.

From the corner of his eye, Sakusa sees Atsumu nod. “Yup, yup. I did it because I’m a petty bitch, and I wanted the attention of Sakusa Kiyoomi. I thought maybe he’d hafta speak up because he got all jealous or somethin’, so imagine my reaction when it actually worked!”

“So all the times you hung out with Akaashi-san…”

“A lie. I mean, we hung out sometimes, ya know? But my heart was set on Omi Omi from the get-go. Right, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa slowly turns his head in the direction of the boy with bright blonde hair and a smile that could be seen from ten miles away. He thinks he sees something underneath Atsumu’s surface, maybe some sort of gay panic or fear that his truth will be exposed. His cheeks—not as chiseled as one might expect from a soon-to-be Olympic athlete—have a faint fluster to them, and it’s hard to tell if it’s from practice or if it’s from whatever shitstorm _this_ conversation is.

In his defense, Sakusa tries to sound pleasant—he just fails miserably every time he tries. Finally, Sakusa answers, “Yes,” figuring that simple and straight-to-the-point attitude is not only his MO but the most appropriate route to take here.

Another thick silence, then an outburst, a flurry of questions that Sakusa cannot keep up with. Luckily, most of them are directed at Atsumu, and quite a few have to do with questions relating to why Sakusa would choose _Atsumu_ , of all people.

Hinata’s voice pulls Sakusa out of his thoughts. He shakes his head, as if it’ll help to hide some of the emotions he feelings—whatever they are. Sakusa’s not quite sure yet what they mean, and he honestly doesn’t really want to figure it out. “How’d it happen?”

“How do any of these things happen?” _God_ , his arrogant voice is insufferable. Sakusa feels rather than sees Atsumu come up beside him; his bare skin prickles. He is not wearing a shirt, and Atsumu is wearing very, very little—barely enough fabric to conceal his ass, honestly—this sort of contact in a men’s locker room should not be allowed.

But Atsumu makes a grab for him anyway, his arm wrapping around Sakusa’s shoulders. Sakusa stiffens at the touch once more, but what surprises him the most isn’t that he stiffens from disgust. His own physical reaction to Atsumu’s fingers resting, curled, around Sakusa’s shoulder blades, his warm forearm resting at the nape of his neck—these are touches that Sakusa, surprisingly, finds pleasant.

And Sakusa Kiyoomi doesn’t really find touching pleasant. There’s a reason why his teammates have had to grow accustomed to squashing their instinctual high fives and back slaps when he scores. Sakusa assumed that physical touches from Atsumu would include a lot of grabbing and a lot of snatching. Not whatever _this_ is, this feather-light, almost hesitant contact that makes Sakusa’s stomach churn.

 _It’s just a touch_ , he tells himself, but he finds that it feels like more than that. Sakusa doesn’t shake off Atsumu’s arm, nor does he snap at him as he’s prone to do when Atsumu begins to run his mouth for more than five minutes. He only finally breaks away from Atsumu’s body when Atsumu releases him to chase after Inunaki, who snaps a picture of Atsumu standing there in his stupid fox-printed underwear with his arm around Sakusa.

The area that Atsumu’s arm had covered feels cold, and Sakusa considers that, perhaps, while he’s committed to this fake-dating thing, he could use it to his advantage to learn more about himself and this profound lack of aversion to touch—assuming they don’t break any consent boundaries.

* * *

And that’s how, the next day, Sakusa finds out that he really, really likes holding hands.

Sakusa has never held hands with anyone before. Hands are inarguably the dirtiest part of the human body, touching all sorts of surfaces in all sorts of places. And it’s not just that, either—people are notoriously _awful_ at proper hand washing that they might as well skip the hand wash all together and just die from spreading germs.

But he decides, on a whim, that he wants to try it, and he sort of _has_ to pretend to try it, because he can feel his teammates watching him and Atsumu, very closely.

 _Damn_. He’d been hoping Bokuto and Akaashi beginning a relationship would be enough to seep the team off of their backs, but apparently dating within the team is a bigger deal than someone not on the team. Or maybe the big deal is that it’s the two people who earn the superlative ‘ _Least likely to finally tolerate one another’s presence’._ So Sakusa acts on a whim and holds out his hand. “Hurry up.”

Atsumu stares at it, as if he’s never seen a hand before.

“Stop staring.”

“Wow, ya really into me that much, Omi Omi?” Sakusa is just about ready to retract the offer to hold hands when Atsumu reaches out and snatches up his palm. Without warning, Atsumu slips his fingers in between Sakusa, creases a little damp, and rough and thick and completely unlike Sakusa’s hands. Strong and solid. A setter’s hand.

He doesn’t exactly understand why it feels nice. He just know that it does.

“It’s only until the end of the season. Don’t let it get to your head.”

But as Sakusa pulls Atsumu in the direction of his teammates, he realizes that he says it to Atsumu just as much as he says it to himself.

* * *

By the time the V-League season starts, Sakusa is knee-deep in schoolwork and exhausted from practice. He has a precise routine that has most of his commute to and from class and practice mapped out by the minute. Unlike Atsumu, whose full-time job is to be a volleyball player both on and off the court, Sakusa is preoccupied wrapping up his university years with the impending question of what he’ll do upon graduation. Outside of volleyball, of course.

On top of that, Atsumu demands more time than anyone else in Sakusa’s life.

“Omi Omi.”

Sakusa doesn’t even lift his head as he flips the page. “I’m busy.”

“You’ve been busy for the past two hours!”

“That’s what happens when you actually study.”

Atsumu sighs loudly, a sigh that’s meant to be heard, and Sakusa grits his teeth. He’d allowed Atsumu to come over because of the endless needling. He doesn’t know why he thought having Atsumu over would put an end to that needling, because all Atsumu’s done is break the silence in Sakusa’s apartment every fifteen minutes.

“I’m glad I didn’t hafta go to college.”

“Lucky you.”

“I think I would _die_ if I had to study all the time.”

Sakusa glances up, surprised to find Atsumu staring at him from across his table. “What?”

“Do ya even like playin’ volleyball?” Atsumu asks. Sakusa sets down his pencil, admitting defeat—he’s not getting anymore studying done tonight. “If yer in university and all that, on top of playing.”

“I like it.”

“Then why’re ya in uni, too?”

“I like learning.”

Atsumu’s nose wrinkles. “If it’s not something that’ll help me be better on court, it’s not important.”

“Spoken like a true volleyball simpleton.”

“So why do ya like learning, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa stares down at his textbook, at his careful annotations in the margins. He purses his lips to think about it before answering, “Because it feels nice to know something you didn’t know before.”

“I guess I get that. But only in, ya know, like, volleyball stuff.”

Atsumu taps his fingers on the table as he hums to himself. He doesn’t keep still, Sakusa notices, when he’s not on court. His body vibrates with energy that manifests itself in the constant shaking of his leg, in the fiddling with zippers, in the way his eyes dart back and forth from person to person, object to object. Miya Atsumu has always been a hurricane by nature. He doesn’t move the way Sakusa does, with deliberate choices, well-thought out plans, and practical steps. It can be annoying, sometimes, how he never stops running, eyes fixed on the next thing to grab.

But—and Sakusa hasn’t yet admitted this to _anyone_ yet, not even himself—it can also be exhilarating.

“I guess it’s not surprising comin’ from someone like _you_.” Atsumu draws out the last word, vowels fitted snugly on his pouty lips. Sakusa wonders: if he studied Atsumu’s mouth carefully as he spoke, would he find a difference in how they formed words compared to someone without an accent? Would his tongue fall at different locations on the tip of his teeth?

Not that Sakusa should be thinking about Atsumu’s mouth, or anything like that. Sakusa shakes his head.

“You could always go back to college,” Sakusa says.

“And suffer more? Nah, I think I’m good.” Atsumu grins. “Besides, I ain’t a student or any professional like that. I’m a setter. That’s all I’ll ever be, and I’m proud of it. That’s why I gotta be the best.”

Sakusa opens his mouth, about to respond, but he stops himself. Because he sees a streak of certainty in Atsumu’s eyes—he’s seen that since the first time they met all those years ago in high school. Where Atsumu’s self-assuredness comes across as cockiness. But in reality, as Sakusa knows, it comes from hundreds of thousands of hours of work that Atsumu puts in to—put it simply—be the best.

He relates to that. Sakusa has always prided himself in his work ethic and perseverance. It’s what makes him strong. Although Atsumu drives him damn near up a wall, he knows that Atsumu has the same work ethic, the same mental strength, the same hunger to be nothing less than perfect.

And as Sakusa thinks about it more, he realizes that this strength, not derived solely by luck or talent, is one that he finds incredibly attractive.

Not that Atsumu’s attractive.

Physically, maybe. But not his personality.

Sakusa considers telling him this, admitting to Atsumu just how much he genuinely _does_ respect Atsumu’s hustle, he opts instead for the safe route of a blunt roast. “Then it must suck for you to be only second-best setter in all of Japan.”

Atsumu gasps. “Omi Omi!”

“I suppose it’s more reason for you to practice.”

“I—”

“Please stop talking.” Sakusa shuts his book and stands up abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the hardwood floors with an abrasive screech.

Atsumu glowers at him. “I’m not ignorin’ just how cruel yer always bein’ to me, ya know.”

“Ah.”

“Be a little more concerned for yer teammate!.”

“I’m going to make dinner.”

Atsumu’s eyes brighten. “I’ll help.”

“No. Please don’t.”

“Why not? My brother’s Samu, ya know. I’ll have ya know that—”

“You’re even worse at cooking than Hinata-kun.” Sakusa rolls his eyes, heading to the kitchen with Atsumu in tow. He washes his hands under the sink—twenty seconds, lukewarm water—before drying them off on a towel. “You’re not allowed to help.”

Atsumu washes his hands, too, and he sticks his tongue out with a cheeky grin. “I’m not the best at following orders,” he says.

“Get out.”

“No.”

“I’m never letting you back in again.”

“C’mon, Omi Omi, don’t be so mean to yer boyfriend.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes as he begins to pull out some vegetables and fish in the fridge. He pauses only long enough to reach for an apron that he ties around his waist, and as he reaches for a knife and a cutting board to set up his area, he glances up only to find Atsumu with his phone out.

“What are you doing?”

“I gotta brag to my fans about my domestic boyfriend.”

His cheeks warm. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s part of the deal!”

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.”

Much to his disapproval, Atsumu posts the picture on Instagram with a cheeky caption ( _“Triple threat: volleyball player, star student, AND he cooks!!!!_ ”) and Sakusa sighs. He’d expected Atsumu to do something like this. Not being able to post about Akaashi on social media probably almost killed him. Atsumu can’t go a day without fluffing himself up on public platforms.

“Wash your hands again if you’re going to help,” Sakusa says as Atsumu slides his phone back into his sweatpants pocket. “Phones are disgusting.”

“So yer letting me cook with ya?”

“Never mind. Go back to your place.”

“Hot to cold, with ya, ain’t it?”

(In the end, Sakusa ends up letting him help).

(He cannot remember the last time someone stayed over for dinner).

(He also cannot remember the last time someone’s elbow brushed against his, as they stood side-by-side chopping vegetables, and he didn’t pull away).

* * *

“So what’s it like dating Atsumu?” Bokuto chirps one morning. Sakusa doesn’t know how he’s able to have casual conversation at 5AM. Although Sakusa is a morning person by every definition of the word, he’s certainly not able to have casual small-talk.

Sakusa shrugs, not really wanting to give an answer, not really knowing what to say.

Bokuto pushes down against Sakusa's back, hands digging into his shoulders and upper back. Sakusa braces against his force, wincing as his spine cracks against the pressure.

"It's fine," Sakusa answers, because it is fine. He's not particularly changed because of it, and he doesn't think it's as bad as he expected it to be—with the exception of the fact that he's had to buy twice the number of snacks and groceries ever since Atsumu began hanging around him more. “He's clingy.”

“I’m glad you found someone to be happy with!” Bokuto exclaims. “I was worried when—I thought it was kind of sad when Tsum Tsum told me was breaking up with Akaashi. And I felt bad that I also didn't feel that sad about it.”

“I see.” Sakusa watches Atsumu mess around with Hinata from across the gym. He lets loose a hearty laugh as Hinata attempts to climb onto his shoulders. “One of them's going to get hurt,” Sakusa comments. Knowing Atsumu, it'll probably be him.

“Were you sad, Omi?” Bokuto sticks his face near Sakusa’s, and Sakusa instinctively leans away. Bokuto notices and pulls back. “Sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“Were you sad when Atsumu pretended to be dating Akaashi?”

“Not as sad as you,” Sakusa replies, and that’s the truth. He'd been skeptical about it from the get go, for a few reasons. The main reason was that Akaashi has a sense of reason and enough brains to never involve himself with someone like Atsumu. 

“But were you sad?”

Sakusa sighs and twists around slightly. He wipes at his temple with his forearm, the lingering sweat sticky against his skin, and he stares at Bokuto. Bokuto's face, always as bright as a sunflower, smiles back at him. “I don't think so,” he says.

“Oh.” Bokuto scrunches his eyebrows, lips pursed. Sakusa sighs again, not exactly sure what he's looking for, what kind of answer Bokuto wants, or what kind of answer he'll be satisfied with. “Well. I'm glad you got to be honest with him about your feelings. It was killing me to not be honest with Akaashi.”

“I think it was killing Akaashi-kun, too. Since he was stuck with Atsumu.” Sakusa comments, and Bokuto laughs, giving Sakusa one clap on the back that borders on painful as he releases Sakusa from his persistent pushing. 

“You're funny, Omi Omi,” Bokuto says. He waves enthusiastically at Akaashi, who has, as usual, appeared on time at the close of their morning practice. “I’m glad you finally found someone.”

Sakusa rubs at his shoulders as he sees Atsumu nearly topple backwards. By some miracle, Barnes catches Hinata before he can crack his skull on the floor, but Atsumu isn't so lucky—he falls smack on his ass with a grunt, earning himself a yell from Meian.

As if sensing the laser beams shooting from Sakusa’s eyes, Atsumu glances up. Their eyes meet from across the gym. Sakusa glares. Atsumu grins.

_Don’t you fucking dare_ , Sakusa thinks.

But, of course, Atsumu fucking dares.

“I’m fine, Omi-kun! No reason to be worried about your lover.”

This earns Atsumu a chorus of groans and a smack upside the head, and Sakusa flops onto his back to twist out his back. He sees Bokuto as he speaks, animated as ever, to Akaashi. Akaashi's face may be void of much expression, but there’s a softness to his gaze, one that has room for no on except Bokuto.

Sakusa wonders if he'll ever get looks from someone like that.

He wonders if Atsumu will ever look at someone like that.

Because if there’s anything he knows from their shared looks, whether its in his apartment or across the court or in the locker room, it's that Atsumu and Sakusa will _never_ be like that.

* * *

**miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
look at my bae  
[ photo of Atsumu posing for the camera, with Sakusa in the background, on the floor stretching out. Atsumu waves a peace sign with his tongue stuck out. Sakusa is not looking at the camera ]  
8.5k🗨️ 10.7k⟲ 30.2k♡

> **Captain Meian** @MSBYMeian  
>  Delete this.   
>  123🗨️ 301⟲ 1.3k♡
> 
>  **hinata shoyo** @ninjashoyo  
>  this is so cute tsumu-san!!!!   
>  205🗨️ 198⟲ 845♡
> 
>  **bokuto hey hey hey!!!!** @bokutobeam  
>  nice photo tsum tsum!!!! what does "bae" mean??????  
>  956🗨️ 484⟲ 2.6k♡
>
>> **adriah thomas** @athomasofficial  
>  bullied (by) atsumu everyday  
>  3.8k🗨️ 4.2k⟲ 7.7k♡
>> 
>>  **inunaki** @inunakishion  
>  (atsumu) brings (him) apologies everyday   
>  2.6k🗨️ 4.7k⟲ 5.8k♡
>> 
>>  **no. 1 v.league mb** @mbsunarin  
>  break (the wills of) a (wingspiker by trapping him in an un)equitable (relationship)   
>  5.1k🗨️ 7.0k⟲ 8.0k♡
>> 
>>  **Official Onigiri Miya** @onigirimiya  
>  boyfriend (of) atsumu (except he regrets) everything   
>  2.9k🗨️ 5.5k⟲ 9.6k♡
>>
>>> **miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
>  @MSBYMeian @inunakishion @athomasofficial @mbsunarin @onigirimiya BLOCKED  
>  580🗨️ 10.1k⟲ 15.6k♡
>> 
>>  **Akaashi Keiji** @akaashikeiji  
>  "Bae" means “before anything else”. It is a phrase used to describe a person very close to you.  
>  820🗨️ 4.1k⟲ 9.0k♡
>>
>>> **bokuto hey hey hey!!!!** @bokutobeam  
>  oh!!!! so you would be my "bae"  
>  1.3k🗨️ 5.0k⟲ 9.5k♡
>> 
>>  **Sakusa Kiyoomi** @sakusakiyoomi  
>  ...   
>  3.1k🗨️ 15.6k⟲ 20.3k♡
>>
>>> **miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
>  😘 😘 😘  
>  2.2k🗨️ 14.8k⟲ 23.7k♡

* * *

 **Official Onigiri Miya** @onigirimiya  
@sakusakiyoomi come get your man.  
[ photo of Atsumu lying on the floor of a kitchen. Rice is stuck at the corner of his mouth, wide open, as he snores ]  
3.7k🗨️ 15.5k⟲ 24.7k♡

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi** @sakusakiyoomi  
>  No.  
>  2.5k🗨️ 19.4k⟲ 24.5k♡

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> OMI OMI
> 
> YOU CANT DISOWN ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Too late.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> omg
> 
> u r a cruel man,
> 
> omi omi
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> That's funny coming from you.
> 
> Do you have to keep posting online?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> why not? fans love it.
> 
> get with the times, they love the gays
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Excuse me
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> dont tell me ur homophobic omi omi
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> ...
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> wow ur homophobic ur committing a microaggression against me
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Miya I am gay.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> omg wow so forward
> 
> at least take me out for dinner first ahahaahh
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> I'm blocking you.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> thats what kaashi kun said to me but he never did!!! i call bluff
> 
> omi omi?
> 
> kiyoomi-kun???
> 
> u better not have blocked me
> 
> HEY
> 
> SAKUSA KIYOOMI
> 
> DONT MAKE ME DO THIS

* * *

**miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
ok everyone @ sakusa kiyoomi and tell him to come collect his mans  
11.5k🗨️ 28.9k⟲ 30.2k♡

* * *

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> WILL YOU STOP IT
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> COME COLLECT UR MANS
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> IF I DO WILL YOU SHUT UP
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> YES
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> FINE.
> 
> STOP TERRORIZING ME.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> u misspelled “loving” omi omi 😘

* * *

Sakusa learns that he doesn’t mind being hugged on a rainy, cold day.

The air hangs damp and heavy in Osaka, and Sakusa steps out of a hot shower only to find Atsumu passed out on his bed. It’s a Saturday, and somehow, after practice, Atsumu convinced Sakusa to let him hang out at their apartment.

“It’s so they see us goin’ home together,” Atsumu said, but Sakusa wonders if that’s really the reason why, or if he’s reading too much into things.

Sakusa sighs. He’d been up late, hoping to take a nap, falling just shy of six hours of sleep due to last-minute changes he’d decided to make on a paper. As someone who prides himself in his self-maintenance, sleep deprivation is a crime. 

Atsumu is a tempest, and that shows up in his sleeping habits as well. He either runs on two hours of sleep or twenty. There appears to be no in-between, no sense of moderation, much like his temperament. Sakusa was sure he saw him dozing off during Meian’s analysis of their next opponent and strategizing session in the first half of practice today. 

It probably doesn’t help that Atsumu spends an ungodly number of nights over at Sakusa’s apartment now, knocking out on the couch as Sakusa’s busy studying, and sometimes even the floor. He’ll fall asleep in the middle of the day or right after dinner, and wind up staying up late past Sakusa’s bed time—by the time Sakusa wakes up, Atsumu’s gone, or he’s curled up on the couch with the spare comforter wrapped tightly around him. 

It confuses Sakusa, how Atsumu has suddenly made Sakusa’s apartment feel closer to Atsumu’s home. It confuses Sakusa even more, how it doesn’t really annoy him.

“Oi.” Sakusa pokes at Atsumu who stirs, barely. He is completely man spread on the bed, starfish formation, half-under the sheets and leg hanging off the edge. Drool is collected at the corner of his mouth, and Sakusa frowns. “Get up.”

“Mmf.” Atsumu turns over on his side, facing away from Sakusa. “Go away.”

“This is my bed, idiot.”

“Lemme have it for five more minutes.”

“Go to the couch.”

“Yer heartless, Omi-kun.”

“Go home.”

“It’s pourin’ out.” Atsumu yawns and stretches, pulling Sakusa’s comforter up beneath his neck. Outside, the rain drums against the window, wind whispering confessions that Sakusa wants to fall asleep to. “Do ya expect me to go home in the rain? I might catch a cold.”

“That wouldn’t have been a concern if you wore a rain jacket _like I told you to_.”

“Don’t got one.”

“Atsumu. Move.”

“No.”

Sakusa takes a deep breath to prevent himself for strangling Atsumu right then and there. He sits on the edge of the bed and rubs at his eyes, dry from fatigue despite having taken a hot, steaming shower. He clenches his fists, wondering if this is worth fighting Atsumu for, but he doesn’t have the energy. He never had the energy to begin with, honestly, which is a large reason why they’re in this predicament in the first place.

“Fine,” he finally says. “I’ll just take the couch.”

Atsumu’s head miraculously shoots up as if he hadn’t been in deep REM sleep approximately thirty seconds ago. “What?”

“It’s fine. I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours.” Sakusa gets up. “Hopefully by then the rain will be over and done with.”

Sakusa begins to move, too tired to be irritated, but a tug at the hem of his shirt stops him. 

His heart skips, faster and more persistent than the damned rain.

“Ya could just share with me,” Atsumu says. His voice is softer than usual, gentle and lacking in the demanding tone Sakusa has grown so accustomed to. If his typical voice resounds like audience applause, his voice, right now, is a gentle stroke of fingertips against skin. “It’s cold, anyway. Also, your couch is too small for me, so it’s definitely too small for you.”

Sakusa hesitates. “I don’t think two grown men will fit in my bed,” he finally answers.

“Oh. So you’ve never had two grown men in yer bed before?”

“Atsumu—”

“C’mon, Omi Omi. I’m sleepy. And so are ya.”

Atsumu’s grip on his shirt tightens, and Sakusa’s skin tingles at the sensation. It’s unfair, honestly, the way that Atsumu can ask these things of him, and any sense of logic and reason goes flying out the door. 

Sakusa climbs into the bed beside him, careful to be on the far opposite side, tugging at the blanket. The bedsheets are warm from Atsumu’s body heat, and although the notion might have once been enough to make Sakusa’s nose wrinkle in disgust, he finds it only makes his heart stutter further.

“Stop hoggin’ the blanket.”

“This is _my_ blanket.”

“So you’ve never had a man in yer bed before?”

Sakusa groans. “Go to sleep, Miya.”

As Sakusa wills his stomach to stop churning with this newfound feeling, he becomes acutely aware of Atsumu’s breath beginning to steady. Sakusa curls further into himself, drawing his knees in, and he wonders what Atsumu is insinuating by his remarks about having never had a man in his bed. Are they derogatory or teasing? Is he delighted or disgusted?

Right when Sakusa’s thoughts begin to fade into sleep, he feels a warm presence press into his back. A weight drops across his waist, and Sakusa’s eyes open wide when he realizes what it is.

Atsumu’s face is all but buried into his shoulder blades. He can feel Atsumu’s breath fanning through the fabric of his worn t-shirt. Sakusa stiffens—not because he doesn’t like it, but because _he likes it too much_ —and he tries not to get distracted by the crock of Atsumu’s elbow that fits so perfectly against the dip of Sakusa’s waist. Almost like it was meant to be there.

“Is this okay?” Atsumu murmurs.

The words _yes_ and _no_ are tangled up on his tongue. Sakusa attempts to steady his breath.

The only words he utters are, “Go to sleep, Miya.”

Sakusa’s eyelids flutter shut, and the last coherent thought he can decipher in his overloaded mind is that he may be further in over his head than he realized.

* * *

**miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
nothing better than morning coffee with a side of omi omi and osaka’s beautiful scenery  
[ a picture of Sakusa holding a cup of coffee, leaning against a railing that overlooks the Osaka river. He is not looking at the camera ]  
7.4k🗨️ 33.6k⟲ 59.0k♡

 **Sakusa Kiyoomi** @sakusakiyoomi  
Nothing better than morning coffee with a side of Osaka’s beautiful scenery  
[ a picture of a cup of coffee leaning against a railing that overlooks the Osaka river. Atsumu is nowhere in sight ]  
4.3k🗨️ 30.9k⟲ 53.2k♡

> **miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
>  UR CRUEL OMI OMI  
>  284🗨️ 9.9k⟲ 36.5k♡
> 
> **Adriah Thomas** @adriahthomas  
>  Can u all stop flirting on my TL pls.  
>  694🗨️ 17.6k⟲ 20.2k♡

* * *

By month three, Sakusa has become accustomed to seeing Atsumu everyday. Of course, before all of this, they’d been seeing each other daily—at practice—but Atsumu becomes a part of Sakusa’s daily routine. He comes over for dinner, and hangs out during Sakusa’s study sessions. They cook meals together or order takeout, stop by the coffee shop three blocks away for a quick fix, and even go to the _grocery store_ together. During practice, Atsumu hovers around Sakusa, and Sakusa finds that while he does not initiate any physical contact nor does he initiate conversation, he quietly wills Atsumu to do it first.

Atsumu stays over more often than not, and has taken to sleeping in Sakusa’s bed rather than the couch or the floor. He seems to have taken that one nap in Sakusa’s bed as an open invite to help himself to any real estate he can snag. Sakusa, sometimes, will fall asleep first, while Atsumu is out in the living room watching movies, and wake up to Atsumu once again curled up beside him. 

This is supposed to be a fake relationship.

Somehow—and Sakusa knows this deep, deep down—it’s turning into a real one.

But it’s not real.

Sakusa almost wishes it could be.

Because Sakusa has not really dated around much. He has casually gone on polite dates, primarily introduced by mutual acquaintances. He had a one-month-long stint with someone Komori had set him up with, but the man had been uninterested in dating someone who spent most of his free time playing volleyball and studying for university. Sakusa has never cared much for that sort of thing, anyway.

He doesn’t know exactly what to make of all of it, so he decides to ask Komori over one of their weekly phone calls. It requires a lot of explanation that he hadn’t wanted to divulge at first, but Sakusa doesn’t know who else to speak to. 

He could, probably, discuss this with Akaashi—since he was the one involved with Atsumu’s shenanigans in the first place—but Sakusa trusts Komori enough to be willing to give him the whole picture.

“I need to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone else,” Sakusa begins with.

Komori laughs over the phone. “I didn’t know you were someone who had secrets, Kiyoomi.”

“I’m serious.”

“You always are.” Komori pauses. “What’s up?”

“It’s a long story,” Sakusa prefaces.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“Atsumu and I aren’t actually dating.”

There’s a lull on the other end of the line, and Sakusa pulls his phone away briefly to make sure the call is still connected. He sits at a bench by the river, the same bench he and Atsumu have begun to stop by after picking up coffee after practice. The cold air bites at his skin. “Hello?”

“I’m still here. I—you’re not?”

“No.”

“But—all those posts on Twitter and Instagram—”

“Atsumu just likes the attention.”

“So every time I’ve asked you about him you’ve just kept up the act?”

“Kind of.” Sakusa thinks about the calls they’ve had. Most of the time, when Komori asks, _How’s Miya doing?_ Sakusa _does_ tell the truth—Atsumu is annoying, Atsumu is reckless, Atsumu has no boundaries—at least to some degree.

“Uh. Sure. But…why?”

“Like I said, it’s a long story.” Sakusa tugs his scarf around his neck tighter. His phone buzzes—a text message from Atsumu, asking if Sakusa had a spare thermal long-sleeve. “I don’t want to go into too many details.”

“You have to give me _something_ , Kiyoomi. You can’t just tell me everything I’ve seen so far has been fake and expect me to just accept it as fact.”

So Sakusa explains the situation to him. As he details the background with Akaashi and Bokuto and Atsumu, he feels stupid for getting caught up in this sort of thing. He shouldn’t have told Atsumu to fix it. He should’ve just handled it himself. _That_ would have been the easiest solution, but then again, Miya Atsumu doesn’t _do_ easy solutions. “That’s not all,” he says as he finishes. “I…it seems to me that Atsumu and I have taken fake dating a little too seriously.”

“Hmm?” Komori hasn’t said much this whole time, only listened and interrupted to ask questions of clarification, not to offer any commentary. “What do you mean?”

“You know I don’t have much experience in dating.”

“Duh. You’re so uninterested in it.”

“I don’t really know what a real relationship is supposed to feel like. But it kind of feels like we’re already in one even though it’s not real.”

Komori does one of those half-cough-half-laughs he does when he’s amused by Sakusa. “That’s funny.”

“This is serious.”

“Kiyoomi, it’s only serious because you’re a serious person.”

“I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, is it bad if it feels real?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sakusa sighs. The thing is, the actual arrangement itself is not bad. The impending problem of boundaries, however, is. “Atsumu and I aren’t dating. We can’t to have a real relationship when it’s very not real. If it’s fake, it’s supposed to _be_ fake.” 

“What makes you think it’s like a real relationship instead of a fake one?”

Sakusa details everything that’s been weighing on his mind, even the platonic bed sharing, even the consistent and regular hanging out. He doesn’t feel embarrassed, necessarily, but the more he provides elaboration to Komori, the more he begins to realize that he’s making himself seem even stupider. 

“Oh,” is all Komori says when Sakusa finishes.

“So? What do I do?”

Komori clears his throat. It’s an early weekend morning, so he expects that Komori has been lying in bed, listening to Sakusa drone on and on about this mess. It always surprises Sakusa how Komori knows him so well. And, in cases like this, Sakusa is thankful, since, apparently, there are some things about himself that Sakusa fails to understand. “I honestly thought you guys were actually dating.”

“I told Atsumu not to put it all over Twitter,” Sakusa mutters.

“And every time I ask you about him on our calls, and how things are going, you seem happy.”

Sakusa frowns. “I seem happy?”

“For your standards, yeah. Or at least content. Even if you say Atsumu is a pain in the ass half the time.”

“That’s a gross understatement.”

Komori laughs. His tone is bright and unlike anything Sakusa has ever mustered from his own vocal cords. “All I’m saying is…so it feels like a real relationship. Do you enjoy being in a real relationship, even if it’s supposed to be fake?”

“Hm.” Sakusa narrows his eyes, taking into consideration the time they’ve spent together the past few days alone. He hadn’t really thought about that much. 

Because really, Sakusa’s used to being a bit of a loner. His only real friend that’s not a teammate is Komori, who he’s related to, so that doesn’t count. While he does consider his Black Jackals teammates as his friends, as well as his high school and university teammates and some of his rivals, Sakusa has, always, been someone who enjoys his solitude.

Atsumu is, in all meaning of the word, the polar opposite. Having grown up with Osamu right at his side, Sakusa doesn’t think there’s bee a moment where Atsumu has ever been alone.

Perhaps that’s why he hangs around Sakusa so much. He needs another person to latch onto, to fill the emptiness caused by not having that one person around at all times.

The most surprising thing is that Sakusa doesn’t seem to mind it.

“I think so?” It comes out as a question.

“Wow. This is a big development.” Komori clears his throat and clicks his tongue. “A good one, actually.”

Sakusa stands up, beginning to feel the cold seep under his clothes and against his skin. He longs for the warmth of Atsumu’s body curled against his. The thought passes through his mind like clouds hanging low at sunset. “It is?”

“Yes. I’m honestly surprised—you didn’t strike me as someone who’d _ever_ be even remotely interested in dating, regardless of whether it’s real or not.”

“But it’s _not_. And that’s the problem.” Sakusa begins walking back towards his apartment. The mask on his face keeps his nose and mouth warm, but his ears are cold. “Should I just cut it off now?”

“Do you _want_ to? Or do you like being around Miya-kun?”

Sakusa hesitates. He knows the answer.

He doesn’t want to say it.

He doesn’t have to, based on Komori’s follow up statement: “Never mind. You wouldn’t be calling me asking for advice if you didn’t.” Komori sighs. “Just do what you always do. Be direct and honest. That’s what you do best, and that’s why people respect what you have to say. There’s no reason to treat this differently than how you’ve treated any other conflict that’s arisen in your life.”

Sakusa kicks at the ground as he shuffles across a sidewalk. His phone buzzes again and he pulls it away just long enough to see another message from Atsumu. “I guess.”

“Trust your own judgement, is what I’ll say. You’re not stupid. Atsumu’s a bit of a ditz, I think, so you have to be blunt with him.”

The corner of Sakusa’s lips raise ever so slightly. He can’t deny the fact that Atsumu, despite being incredibly gifted and driven, is a dumbass. “Okay.”

But after he hangs up the call and walks several blocks to get back to his apartment—during which time he considers his options of how to broach the topic—Sakusa comes face-to-face with the Atsumu who waits outside of his apartment.

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu’s hands are shoved into his pockets of the hoodie he wears, which is definitely _not_ warm enough for the cold weather. His hair is neatly trimmed and swept to the side, and there’s a tinge of pink that colors the highest point of his cheeks. “Ya didn’t respond to my texts.”

Sakusa fishes his key out of his pockets. “I was talking to Komori.”

“Oh.”

“Why’re you here?”

“I brought breakfast.” Atsumu gestures at the bag slung over his shoulder. “Samu’s testin’ out some new onigiri and offered to give some to us.”

_Us_. Since when had that word joined their vocabulary? It wiggled its way in, stealthy and persistent. 

The thought of onigiri—and Osamu’s onigiri, at that—is enough of distraction that Sakusa welcomes with open arms. He punches in the code to the apartment complex lobby doors and Atsumu follows, falling into step beside him as they head to the elevators. “Were you waiting out there long?”

“Nah. Only a couple of minutes.”

“You should wear thicker jackets.”

“I’m fine. I don’t hafta wear all those layers. I get all sweaty and stuff and would rather walk around butt naked.”

Sakusa swallows. Because, really, that’s not a visual he has to be thinking about right now in this elevator, not with Atsumu standing probably a foot closer than he has to be standing.

The back of Atsumu’s hand brushes against his, but Atsumu pulls it away quickly. 

It almost makes Sakusa laugh. They’ve been privately sharing beds—one might even call it _cuddling_ —and publicly holding hands. Yet the moment they’re in private, it seems, in a space that isn’t Sakusa’s bed, any physical touch warns of a reprimand.

Sakusa keeps his eyes fixed on the numbers as they increase, the elevator humming around him. He can see, from his peripheral vision, Atsumu glancing at him every so often.

Atsumu purses then licks his lips. “Omi Omi? Yer pretty quiet. Everything okay?”

_No, everything is not okay, because you are bringing me breakfast food and standing too close to me, because you’ve been sleeping in my bed and holding me against you while you sleep, because you spend more hours with me than anyone else ever has, and because even the moments you are not with me you still take up space in my thoughts, and I cannot stop thinking about you and us and how none of this is even real._

As the elevator doors open, Sakusa steps out and, for the first time in his life, he lies. “Nothing, Miya. It’s not a bit deal.”

* * *

**Sakusa Kiyoomi** @sakusakiyoomi  
Very thankful for @OnigiriMiya ’s breakfast food. Less than thrilled about the delivery boy. But at least the rice is still warm.  
[ a picture of Atsumu unpacking the box of steaming onigiri. He has a soft smile on his face as he looks down at the food ]  
10.5k🗨️ 42.0k⟲ 63.8k♡

> **miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
>  deeply offended by this post >:(  
>  2.4k🗨️ 13.1k⟲ 20.6k♡
> 
>  **Official Onigiri Miya** @onigirimiya  
>  Always a pleasure! Feel free to bring your complaints about the delivery boy next time you’re in shop. We were thinking of firing him anyway so this is a perfect excuse.  
>  3.7k🗨️ 2.4k⟲ 15.0k♡
>
>> **miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
>  at least @ me directly u coward  
>  749🗨️ 3.5k⟲ 18.4k♡
> 
>  **miya atsumu** @setteratsumu  
>  @onigirimiya EAT SH T OSAMU  
>  1.0k🗨️ 5.6k⟲ 16.2k♡
>
>> **Official Onigiri Miya** @onigirimiya  
>  This is why I charge you extra for all your orders.  
>  984🗨️ 2.5k⟲ 12.7k♡

* * *

A fan snaps a picture of them after their match against EJP. Sakusa and Atsumu are on their way out of the gym, Atsumu tugging at Sakusa’s elbow and pointing in the direction of the yakitori place Osamu showed him.

The photo is uploaded on Twitter. SAKUATSU is trending in Japan, with nearly sixty thousand Tweets within an hour.

Sakusa tries not to think much of it. He can feel the pressure of the inevitable crashing that’ll happen, and as much as he wants to ignore it, he can’t. He know he can’t. He knows he _shouldn’t_. 

Atsumu is unfazed by it and even retweets and likes a few comments that he thinks is funny.

What an idiot.

“Omi Omi,” Atsumu says as he foots the bill for them—which he’s done more often than not, and Sakusa wonders how Atsumu is able to pay for everything. “Call me a dumbass all ya want, but it’s great for yer public image.”

Right. Public image.

“My public image is fine, thank you very much.” Sakusa takes a final sip from the sake, the sweetness burning through the acidity that runs across his tongue.

In the back of his mind, he wonders if kissing Atsumu would be like that. A little acidic. A little sweet. Maybe it’s just the sake talking.

Atsumu’s cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and his hair is wild from lack of styling after his shower. Under the warm lights of the izakaya, dressed not in his volleyball uniform but in a black t-shirt with an onigiri embroidered on the left breast pocket, Atsumu looks like a carefree, easygoing guy that Sakusa might have had a crush on. The smug, cocky attitude isn’t there. He laughs with freedom and inhibition, his tongue pink and pressed against the bottom of his teeth. 

Sakusa wonders what it would feel like to have Atsumu’s tongue run against _his_ teeth.

Yeah, it’s definitely the sake.

“Every time I see yer social media posts, I think, couldja get any drier?” Atsumu drums his fingers on the tabletop as the waitress brings back his credit card and the check. In the izakaya, there are certainly people who recognize them—Sakusa can tell from their lingering gazes and the not-so-subtle whispers—although it’s hard to tell if it’s because it’s Sakusa and Atsumu together or if it’s because they are two very large, very fit men who stick out like a sore thumb against non-volleyball players.

“I like my posts.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t.” Atsumu scribbles his signature and pockets his credit card. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

“You don’t have to be so obvious about loving attention,” Sakusa drawls. He steps out into the cold with Atsumu slightly swaying. His stomach is full and his body feels warm despite the chilly air. A lone streetlamp flickers like a lone candle as Sakusa pulls on his gloves and zips his jacket. He pulls a beanie out of his pocket and tucks his ears in.

They begin walking east, in the direction of his apartment, since Sakusa knows now to expect Atsumu to come over whether he’s invited or not.

“Can’t help it. Grew up with Samu always stealing the spotlight.”

“Osamu-kun isn’t around anymore. You don’t have competition anymore.”

Atsumu absentmindedly reaches forward and brushes at the curls that can’t be contained underneath Sakusa’s hat. Sakusa freezes in his tracks as Atsumu tucks them under and out of his eyes.

He thinks that, maybe, he can feel Atsumu’s rough fingertips lingering on his forehead.

_This isn’t real_.

Atsumu is not gentle. He is not affectionate.

He is not his boyfriend.

“Why don’tcha come over, Omi-kun?” Atsumu says. He pulls his hand away only to stuff both of them into his pockets. “We always go to yer place. Ya must be gettin’ tired of me messin’ up yer space now.”

“Huh?” Sakusa stares, dumbfounded.

“I mean, only if yer comfortable with that. I’m pretty clean, actually. Though everyone thinks I’m a slob just cuz I’m a little all over the place.”

Up until now, Sakusa has not even remotely considered Atsumu’s home. Any time they spend together is either outside, in the gym, or in Sakusa’s apartment. It wasn’t up to debate, really, since Atsumu simply pestered Sakusa until he caved and let Atsumu come over one day, then the next time, then the next time. The idea of going to Atsumu’s place was completely uncharted territory.

“I’ll walk you home,” Sakusa decides are the safest words he can manage right now, since the word _No_ evaporates on his tongue as soon as it appears. “Lead the way.”

If Atsumu recognizes it as a cop out answer, he doesn’t give any indication. The hum of Osaka’s traffic breezes past them, and they walk in companionable silence. Atsumu doesn’t make any of his moves to try to grab at Sakusa or tug him along, and Sakusa faintly entertains the idea that Atsumu is as nervous as he is. 

“Do you live with Osamu-kun?” Sakusa finally asks, and Atsumu shakes his head.

“Nah. We shared an apartment for a couple of years, until we could both afford our own.” Atsumu’s eyes soften. As much as he complains about his twin, Sakusa sees that the two are closer than anyone else in Atsumu’s life. “He hated the commute to his shop once it opened, so the timing worked out.”

“I see.”

“Samu has a studio since he doesn’t spend much time at home anyway.”

“Oh.”

“I like havin’ my space, too. First time ever I’m not sharin’ something with him.”

“You enjoy having your own space?” Sakusa snorts. “Then why’re you always stealing mine?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen. “I don’t steal none of yer space!”

“Liar.”

Atsumu crosses his arms and wrinkles his nose, looking less like a twenty-four-year-old six-foot-three professional volleyball player and more like a petulant child. “Yer an only child, right, Omi Omi? So it’s good to learn how to share space eventually.”

Sakusa frowns. “What do you mean, eventually?”

“You know.” Atsumu glances at his feet and kicks at the ground. When he looks away, Sakusa has a harder time reading him. He’s always had a hard time reading people, honestly, mostly because he’s too focused on facts to try and conjecture what others are thinking. Atsumu, however, has always been straightforward to understand—so why can’t Sakusa read him now? “When ya finally have a real someone to share space with.”

Sakusa swallows. It’s the closest thing they’ve gotten to broaching the topic of this ending. They have two more matches now until the season ends. Until their ‘relationship’ ends. He can feel his throat jump with words left unsaid and he doesn’t respond. Atsumu doesn’t seem to expect him to, and simply guides him in silence through the streets until they turn onto a small residential avenue that Sakusa has never spent time in before.

“I don’t know if I ever apologized to ya about this,” Atsumu unexpectedly breaks the silence. “But I’m sorry that I gotcha tangled up in all this in the first place. I know ya enjoy yer privacy too.”

Sakusa’s breath catches, partially from shock, since he doesn’t think he’s ever heard Atsumu utter an apology in his life.

“It’s fine,” he says, and he’s surprised to find that he genuinely means it. “It actually detracts from other areas of my life that people could be trying to prying into.”

“I just…I dunno. Samu gave me this whole earful about my shitpostin’ and stuff. So I just wanted to letcha know, if ya really want, I’ll cut it out. I know ya tell me to lay off a lot but for the most part I couldn’t really tell how serious yer bein’.”

There are, arguably, some ways that Atsumu could have spoken to Sakusa about this sooner. Probably in the very beginning, when they’d first agreed to this arrangement. And probably a few weeks in, once Atsumu had shared their first ‘official’ post on his Instagram. There were many things they could’ve gone over, like how they wouldn’t spend exorbitant amount of time together or go on pseudo-dates together or share beds with one another.

But they didn’t discuss _any_ of that, and in retrospect, it’s kind of Sakusa’s fault, too.

And now he is totally, utterly, completely fucked.

Because as Atsumu pauses at the front of his apartment building, looking for his keys and muttering to himself, Sakusa gets a glance of his profile. Atsumu’s face has slimmed out since their high school years, but still possesses that youthful glow that Sakusa has always lacked. His hair falls in his eyes, dark and glittering under the street lamps.

Before he can even think twice about what he’s doing, Sakusa reaches forward to brush Atsumu’s hair out of his face. Even through the fabric of his gloves, he can feel his fingertips tingling.

Atsumu freezes.

He inhales sharply.

Sakusa pulls his hand back and clenches it in a fist, wondering if he did the wrong thing. He doesn’t initiate contact, save for that first hand-holding he offered in order to show to their team that they were an item. And he certainly hasn’t initiated contact that involves intimately brushing Atsumu’s hair off his forehead.

Sakusa clears his throat and looks away right as Atsumu raises his gaze to meet his. “Um, I’m actually pretty tired tonight. I think I’m going to go home.”

“Omi-kun—”

“Thanks for the dinner, Miya. I appreciate it.”

Sakusa walks down the street, ignoring the fact that he doesn’t really know where he is. There’s no reason to go over to Atsumu’s place; there’s no reason to brush Atsumu’s hair out of his hair. 

He knew that they’d crossed the line long ago between fake and real dating. He needs to reel them back in so both parties remember the truth about them: there is no _them_. There never was.

Sakusa sighs. He pulls his jacket around himself tighter; with his left side void of Atsumu’s presence, and with only the bristling of the naked trees to fill up the silence, Sakusa feels colder than usual.

* * *

They beat the Green Rockets in an upset, losing the first two but winning the last three. Sakusa becomes irritated, since Atsumu says, “Nice kill,” without so much as glancing his way, and uses the middle more than the sides whenever Sakusa’s ready to attack on the left. 

He notices Atsumu enthusiastically giving Hinata and Bokuto high fives. He notices Atsumu tackling Inunaki with a hug when he digs the last ball and allows them to get the winning point, narrowly avoiding a deuce.

He notices Atsumu not noticing him, at all.

“What in the living fuck?” Sakusa mutters. He’s sweaty from the game, and he’s pissed he missed three consecutive serves. They may have won, but Sakusa was not playing at his best—which is unusual, since Sakusa almost always plays at his best—and in his eyes, he may as well have lost. Sakusa can’t help it. He is irritated.

One year ago, he might have considered Atsumu not paying much attention to him a blessing. After all, they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, dating back to their high school years when Atsumu was far less equipped to speak to people with tact and politeness than now. The first few months of them playing on the Black Jackals together had been rough, too, since Sakusa and Atsumu seemed to get on each other’s nerves with every little verbal exchange.

But that was one year ago. And now—Sakusa cannot believe he’s thinking this to himself—but Atsumu ignoring him is worse than Atsumu annoying him.

“Sakusa-san!” Hinata comes barreling over. Sakusa has no idea how he’s able to sprint across the court to him in spite of playing almost the entire playing time. Sakusa stretches out his back as Hinata all but jumps up and down like a pogo stick. “Meian-san is buying us all a round! Are you gonna come?”

“I don’t think so,” Sakusa answers. “Sorry.”

“Aw, really? Okay.” Hinata looks visibly disappointed, and Sakusa almost wants to take it back. “Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be at—”

“Shoyo-kun, ya mind helpin’ me with my brother real quick?” Sakusa doesn’t glance at Atsumu. “He needs to load up his van and his helper bailed cuz of some date she had or somethin’. Samu said he’d give ya some leftover onigiri in exchange.”

Hinata smiles wildly. “Sure!”

They walk away and Sakusa is, once again, aware of how annoyed he is.

It’s different from his usual annoyance.

This one feels _personal_.

Sakusa sighs and stands up from the polished floors of the gym. A majority of spectators have already filtered out, and the few that remain wait in line to get autographs from their favorite players. Sakusa himself has signed off his name more than he’d probably like, but he supposes it’s a small price to play for being able to play on this time.

“Ah, good game, Sakusa-san.” Sakusa turns at the soft voice, only to see Akaashi materialize by his size.

“Hi, Akaashi-kun.” Sakusa nods in acknowledgement. He’s always liked Akaashi. “It’s good to see you.”

“How’s your ankle feeling? Bokuto-san mentioned he thinks you might have injured it last week.”

“Oh. It’s fine. Thank you.” Sakusa picks up his tracksuit from the floor and tugs on his jacket. “I just rolled it a little bit while running. I’m fine now.”

“That’s good to hear.” Akaashi looks briefly away, eyes scanning the crowds, stopping only when he sees Bokuto amongst a sea of fans. 

Sakusa watches Akaashi’s gaze soften. 

He thinks about Atsumu’s face doing the same thing, for the brief moment outside of the izakaya, and then he thinks about Atsumu deliberately ignoring him. 

“If I could ask you something…” His voice trails off. He’s not sure why he’s about to ask Akaashi for relationship advice, or fake relationship advice, or whatever it is. He doesn’t even know _what_ he’s going to ask; he just knows that there are a million questions in his mind and a million non-answers he can think of. Sakusa is smart; he knows that. So why is it that he feels so _clueless_?

“Hm?” Akaashi turns his attention back to Sakusa. He wears a sweatshirt that hangs too big on him with the MSBY Black Jackals logo across it. It must be Bokuto’s. “Of course, Sakusa-san. Is everything okay?”

Sakusa takes a deep breath. Should he even bother asking Akaashi? After all, he’s already asked Komori, and Komori has given him a direct answer: just talk to Atsumu.

But it’s different than _‘just talking’._

“It’s about Miya.”

Akaashi nods as if it doesn’t need to be said. “Of course.”

“I haven’t talked about this with anyone, really, but because I know you already know about the fake-dating thing, I feel like you can give me a unique perspective about how to handle fake-dating Atsumu.”

Akaashi stills. “Huh?”

“What do you mean, ‘huh’?”

“Wait.” Akaashi holds up his hands. His eyes blink multiple times, rapidly, and Sakusa has a brief moment of concern that he’s going to make himself dizzy. “Sakusa-san. Did you just say what I think you said? You’re fake-dating Atsumu?”

Sakusa pauses. “Um. Yes?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Akaashi pinches at the bridge of his nose. Perhaps its his glasses or the serious look on his face or his labor-intensive job, but Akaashi looks stressed. Or maybe distressed is a better term. “You and Atsumu are _fake_ dating?”

“You didn’t know? I assumed you did, because you and Atsumu were fake dating. And then Atsumu ended the fake-dating with you by fake-dating me so you could real-date Bokuto-san.”

“Oh my fucking God. That guy.”

Sakusa has never heard a swear so much as cross paths with Akaashi’s lips.

“You have to be kidding me. Atsumu-kun and you are _faking_ it?”

“That is correct.”

“Oh. My God. I’m going to _kill_ him.” Akaashi takes a deep breath, and honestly, he sounds like he’s being one-hundred percent serious. Sakusa opens his mouth to say more, then shuts it, because Akaashi’s head might explode given his tight, sour expression. “He is such a dumbass.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know. I figured you did. That’s why I was going to talk to you in the first place.”

“Me, too, Sakusa-san. Me fucking too.” Akaashi close his eyes and takes slow, controlled breaths, and when he opens his eyes again, he looks more like his serene self. “Sorry about that. I didn’t expect…I’m starting to lose it. I thought I was losing it before but I am absolutely losing it. Anyway. Sorry, Sakusa-san. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

Sakusa hesitates. He’d been planning on asking Akaashi about his experience with fake-dating Atsumu, and if it had felt the same way he’s feeling right now. Or if all of this is in his head and Atsumu is what Atsumu does, and Atsumu does whatever the fuck he wants. “I wanted to ask if you ever felt like Atsumu was ever acting too much like a real boyfriend.”

“This guy is so stupid,” Akaashi mutters. He grumbles something under his breath that Sakusa can’t quite catch, but he’s sure he hears another few insults thrown in there. After Akaashi takes several deep breaths and rubs at his face, he straightens and clears his throat. “To answer your question, no, I did not. Atsumu-kun is a talented and smart guy, but he gave me one hell of a headache in the short two weeks we were dating.”

“I see.”

“Why do you ask?” Akaashi bites his lip. His eyebrows furrow and he looks the same way Sakusa does when he’s trying to answer an exam question. “Is he doing something weird?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a lot of experience in this area.” Sakusa picks up a spare towel from the bench and dries off his forehead, draping it over his shoulder. “I thought you’d know what I was talking about, since you’ve dealt with Atsumu’s shenanigans in the unique way that I have.”

“He acted more like an annoying little brother than a boyfriend,” Akaashi reassures him, except it’s not reassuring; it makes panic bubble in the gut of Sakusa’s stomach more than anything else in the world has. “Can we get back to the previous topic? About how you’re not actually dating Atsumu?”

“Um…if you want.”

“I just—okay. This is a little ridiculous. Sakusa-san, I thought you two began dating the same day Bokuto-san and I got together. I _saw_ you two with my own two eyes. I thought Atsumu had actually asked you out on a proper date.”

Sakusa shakes his head. His hair brushes against his forehead the same way Atsumu’s fingertips did, and he feels another flare of annoyance at Atsumu avoiding him. “No. He didn’t.”

“Jesus Christ, that guy. This whole time? All the social media posts? All the pictures Atsumu sends to his teammates of you two together sharing a _bed_?” Sakusa had no idea Atsumu sends pictures to their teammates of them sharing a bed. “You mean to tell me all of that is for _show_?”

Okay, now Sakusa understands why Atsumu is intimidated and even a little scared of Akaashi. If looks could kill, someone would be dead by now, and it would probably be Atsumu. “Yes.”

“I am going to kill Miya Atsumu,” Akaashi grumbles again, and Sakusa doesn’t doubt it. He looks at Sakusa, but upon catching a glimpse at Sakusa’s confused expression, his gaze softens a bit. “Sorry. I don’t mean to overwhelm you. I thought—we started—Atsumu—” Akaashi groans and rubs at his temple. “Okay. I don’t want to mess anything up with anyone, even for Atsumu, although it’s tempting. So I need to know—and please be honest with me, Sakusa-san—is there any part of you that wants my perception of your relationship with Atsumu to be the truth? That it’s real?”

Sakusa swallows. _No_ , he wants to say, _because Atsumu is a jerk and he’s annoying and he chews with his mouth open, and also today he completely ignored me on the court and I scored less points in this game than any other one the entire season but all I can think about is how I want him to acknowledge me like I’m the only person in the room, the same way he fits next to me when we’re alone together_.

But his mouth and subsequently his heart betrays him when he says, so soft that he isn’t even sure that Akaashi can hear, Sakusa says, “I wouldn’t hate that.”

And there it is. The truth that cuts him open and splays out the most vulnerable anatomy of Sakusa Kiyoomi. He knows he has a reputation, that he says things without consideration of feelings, and that he’s blunt to a fault. He doesn’t have secrets, not really, except this one: the secret that he keeps tucked away much like other meaningless things.

He’s a minimalist, after all, and in some ways, Atsumu is the exact opposite of that—he overindulges all the time and he has no concept of moderation. In a cruel twist of fate, Sakusa finds himself wanting to overindulge, too, in Atsumu’s presence, in his laughter, in his chaos both on and off the court.

“I’m going to say this only once.” Akaashi looks directly at Sakusa’s eyes. “Atsumu is infuriatingly stupid, and he needs to stop getting himself up into tangled messes. And the only way he’s going to do that in this case is if you help him.”

“But—”

“Just trust me, Sakusa-san. Okay? You don’t have to trust Atsumu, because he’s stupid. But I’m slightly less stupid than he is. Only slightly, though.” Sakusa snorts. He sees as Atsumu returns with Hinata at his side, hands on his hips and grinning broadly. “I thought you two were for-real-dating because Atsumu and I fake dated to get _your_ attention, not Bokuto-san’s.”

The words slam into Sakusa and knock his breath out from his lungs. His chest squeezes, and he struggles to regain mental footing. “Oh.”

Bokuto turns at that precise moment, waving over at Akaashi, like they’ve got a sixth sense that allows them to track each other’s presence, even from across the room. Akaashi glances apologetically at Sakusa as he begins to walk in Bokuto’s direction. “Good luck, Sakusa-san. I’m sorry Miya’s an idiot.”

Sakusa waves as Akaashi turns to walk over to Bokuto. He still doesn’t feel like their conversation has just happened. It feels like a fever dream.

Especially when he sweeps his eyes over to Atsumu, only to catch him staring at him.

Atsumu looks away.

And Sakusa wants to fucking kill him.

* * *

“We need to talk.”

Atsumu braces himself at the cutting edge of Sakusa’s voice. As per usual, he is the last one to linger in the locker room after the game, the last one to part ways from the adoration his fans. Sakusa can see the muscles in Atsumu’s back ripple as he stiffens.

“Ah, Omi Omi, I’m actually runnin’ a bit late to drinks with the team. Yer not plannin’ on taggin’ along, right? Or have ya changed yer mind?” Atsumu pulls a fresh t-shirt over his head and doesn’t even glance at Sakusa.

“Miya. We have things we need to discuss.”

Atsumu steps over his bag to the left, bending over to pick up his shoes. “Couldja wait till—”

Sakusa, damn near his wit’s end, steps forward and slams Atsumu’s locker shut. Atsumu yelps and jumps out of the way, arms raised as if prepared to return whatever punch Sakusa throws at him. Sakusa guesses it’s a reflex refined by the infamous Miya brothers fights he’s heard about, although he’s never witnessed it in person.

Sakusa cannot tell if he wants to confess to Atsumu or lock him in a locker and never let him out again. It’s one of those days.

“What is wrong with you?” Sakusa demands. “You were all in my face two days ago trying to get me to hang out with you in your apartment and then you pretend I don’t exist in the middle of a legitimate match today? Seriously? Are you that immature?”

Atsumu glances nervously around the locker room. No one else is around. His hair is damp in his eyes, wider than Sakusa has ever seen him. For the first time ever, Atsumu looks to be at a loss for words—which only gives Sakusa room to say what’s on his mind.

“I don’t get you at all. I get I wasn’t playing well, but you’re always the first person to piss me off and comment on how I’m not playing well, but today you couldn’t even _look_ at me.”

“Yer the one that ditched me first!” Atsumu blurts. He lowers his hands, then seems to think better of it and crosses his arms instead. “I invited ya over, remember? And you made it pretty clear with me that you didn’t want nothin’ to do with me.”

“So you were willing to potentially sabotage our game today?” Sakusa replies. He cannot explain the sensation growing in his chest—somehow, he simultaneously wants to hit and hug Atsumu. “Is that what it is?”

“I didn’t sabotage! You played just fine!”

“That’s not the point, Miya!”

“Then what _is_ the point?” Atsumu tilts his head, and he looks at Sakusa as if _he’s_ the crazy one. And not him, which is ridiculous, and annoying, because it was Atsumu and his crazy shenanigans that got them wrapped up in this situation in the first place. “What’re ya gettin’ so worked up for, Omi Omi? Geez. This is coming out of nowhere.”

“I cannot stand you,” Sakusa says. His fists clench, and Atsumu takes a step back. “You piss me off, Miya.”

Atsumu shrugs. He sits on the bench to slip his shoes on his feet nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just seen Sakusa yell at him. “What’s new? Yer always stewin’ about, Omi Omi, so I didn’t think anything was wrong between either of us. Besides, ya won’t hafta put up with me much longer. Once we beat the pants off of the Adlers in the last game, then all of this would be—”

“Can you stop—just—ugh.”

“If you hate being around me that much,” Atsumu says, voice cracking in the middle of the sentence, definitely not stopping, “then I’m not goin’ to force ya to hang around me.”

Sakusa groans. “When have I ever told you I hate being around you?”

“Every time we hang out!”

“But have I ever forced you to stop coming around?”

Atsumu opens his mouth, then closes it. Then his mouth opens again, and just hangs there, and Sakusa would laugh if he weren’t so damned frustrated. He always thought things with Atsumu were incredibly simple (volleyball, annoying Osamu, riling up everyone around him). 

“So ya like hangin’ out with me?” Atsumu finally asks.

Sakusa refuses to say it directly.

“I don’t hate it.”

“But you—”

“My god, I turn down one invitation to have a drunk-fest at your apartment, and it suddenly means that I hate you?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “I thought you hated me all along.”

“When have I ever said I hated you?”

“Multiple times!”

“Well, I never meant it.”

“How am I supposed to know you didn’t mean it? Yer always sayin’ things in the most blunt, rude way possible that it’s impossible to know yer being sarcastic. Except yer never sarcastic, so I know for a fact that when ya say that, there’s a—”

“Atsumu.”

The sound of his name stops Atsumu in his tracks. He glances up from where he’s tying his shoelaces, and Sakusa sees something in his eyes that he’s never noticed before. He looks serious for once, which he never sees—at least outside of volleyball.

Sakusa doesn’t say anything further. Nothing can suffice. He wishes Atsumu could read what he’s thinking and feeling, because he doesn’t even know himself.

“Why’d you fake-date Akaashi?”

“What? Why’re we talking’ about that? That was _ages_ ago.”

“Answer the question.”

“I already toldja why. To get Bo-kun and Kaashi-kun together.”

“Are you sure that’s why?”

Atsumu’s eyes narrow. He isn’t the same open guy Sakusa’s used to seeing. He seems guarded in that gaze, like he’s trying to actually analyze and pick apart Sakusa for once instead of just staring dimwittedly at him. “What’re ya tryna get at?”

“I talked to Akaashi-kun today after the match. He didn’t even realize we were fake dating. I thought you would’ve told him that.”

Atsumu swallows. The guarded expression gives way to panic. “It didn’t seem that important to tell him.”

“But you two were the ones fake-dating in the first place.”

“The less people that know the better; I didn’t wanna hafta trust someone to keep their mouth shut—”

“But _why_ did you even agree to fake-date Akaashi in the first place? What’s the reason? Tell me, Miya. I need to hear it from you.”

Atsumu stills. He licks his lips again and chews at them.He doesn’t say anything, and Sakusa doesn’t still know if he speaks the same language as Atsumu’s silence.

Sakusa sits on the bench and suppresses a scream that’s been building in his lungs. Atsumu flinches and inches away, probably fearing that Sakusa will kick him off the bench. As frustrated as he is, however, there’s still a streak of tenderness that runs across Sakusa’s mind that he can’t ignore. 

“I am going to regret this,” he mutters to himself.

“What didja say? I didn’t catch—”

Sakusa had played out this moment in his head on the way over to the locker room, and in his mind it was far more aggressive than it turns out being. Rather than jerking Atsumu by the wrists and pulling him close to his body, Sakusa places one hand on Atsumu. He does not intertwine their fingers. He does not grip Atsumu’s palm. He merely rests it there.

He hears rather than sees Atsumu swallow.

Sakusa runs his thumb side to side along the soft skin of the back of Atsumu’s hand. His heart stutters.

In a herculean feat of courage, Sakusa reaches with another hand to rest it against Atsumu’s face and—without further thought—leans forward until he can feels Atsumu’s breath fanning on his face.

“Sakusa,” Atsumu breathes, and it’s both a question and an answer, and Sakusa takes that as the final push to press his lips against Atsumu’s.

Right as the rush of adrenaline sets in, Atsumu sighs as he presses against Sakusa’s mouth, far softer and kinder than anyone would have ever expected from the foul-mouthed, aggressive prick who rules the court. Sakusa has not kissed anyone recently, and he hasn’t kissed many people in general, but he can say, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that none of those kisses can compare to this one.

It’s chaste, gentle, and yet Sakusa cannot stop the vicious reaction his body has, somewhere caught between crying and laughing and wanting to be more aggressive and wanting to pull away. Atsumu’s the one who breaks away first, eyes wide, lips pink, and the only thing he can think of to say is, “I didn’t think ya ever wanted to be kissed, cuz of germs and stuff.”

“Shut up.” Sakusa’s face heats. 

“Why didja do _that_?”

“Do I really have to say it?”

Atsumu nods enthusiastically. _Dumbass_.

Sakusa swallows. He didn’t think he had the courage to speak now about his truth, but Atsumu isn’t running away screaming after a kiss, so Sakusa decides to give it a shot. “I’m only ever gonna say this once, and I refuse to repeat myself. I think fake-dating you has taught me that I want to be with you, Atsumu. I don’t know why because you drive me up a wall half the time, and your feet smell and you complain too much and you’re clingy and you expect me to pay attention to you all the time like you’re some puppy.” Atsumu opens his mouth to protest, but Sakusa shakes his head. “No. Let me finish.”

Atsumu closes his mouth.

“You’re way too good at volleyball and it makes me annoyed but also makes me driven to get better and better. I trust you fully on the court, even though it sometimes pisses me off, and I didn’t think I’d ever want to spend time with you off the court, either. But you have proven me wrong. At some point you treating me like a real boyfriend even though it was all fake had me realize that I wanted it that way.” Sakusa tightens his grip on Atsumu’s hand, enough to communicate an emphasis, but not enough to hurt—hopefully. “And I just need you to know that. What you do with that and with our arrangement or whatever—I leave that up to you.” 

Atsumu gazes at Sakusa with awe and wonder, or maybe it’s shock and bewilderment. He is, once again, eerily quiet.

Sakusa almost wishes he’d explode on him, full of that incoherent screaming that Atsumu exhibits during painful matches. He wants an earful about crossed boundaries. He wants to be laughed at and belittled for being misled.

The worst thing Sakusa can get right now is empty, hollow silence. And that is precisely all Atsumu is offering.

“Say something,” Sakusa says, a soft and honest plea. “Please.”

Atsumu moves with the speed and precision of a professional athlete, snaking his free hand around the back of Sakusa’s neck and pulling Sakusa towards him. It is so sudden that Sakusa almost yelps, but his mouth becomes occupied with Atsumu as their lips meet again, as if Atsumu has Sakusa’s mouth in his cross hairs and he captures it with ease. He kisses rougher this time, sloppier, the same way Atsumu gets when he’s faced against a challenging opponent and he wants nothing more to steal the lead. 

It’s unfair, really, how easily Atsumu can get away with things Sakusa previously would’ve never stood for. In this case, it’s unfair how he gets out of verbal communication by physical confession, but as Sakusa gasps at the contact of Atsumu’s tongue against his lips, he decides that it’s okay this time.

When they break away, Atsumu gives him that shit-eating grin once again. Sakusa almost prefers the silence. Almost. “Well, then. I don’t need to tell ya what I feel because I think yer already aware. Wadaya say, Omi-kun? Wanna fake-dump me so ya can real-date me instead?”

Sakusa rolls his eye but smiles, drawing Atsumu close. His chin comes to rest at the top of Atsumu’s head, and he swears his heart breaks at the devastating sensation—but in a good way. It isn’t a verbal answer, but it’s enough, and it says more than words ever could. Atsumu sighs at the contact, as does Sakusa.

“Let’s go to your place tonight, Atsumu,” Sakusa replies as he places a kiss at the top of Atsumu’s head. “Show me your home. Please.”

“Yer welcome to come over whenever ya want.” Atsumu tucks his face into the crook of Sakusa’s neck, and he sighs. Sakusa thinks that if they can fit together like this, so easily, like they were meant to, then maybe this will work. “My home is yer home, ya know.”

“And yours is mine.” Sakusa opens his mouth to make a snarky comment about how Atsumu has already invaded his space, but he finds himself speaking without thought. “You’re welcome to come over whenever you want.”

Sakusa can feel Atsumu’s smile pressed up against his neck, and he thinks that if their real relationship can operate in the same way their fake-relationship did, then maybe, just maybe, it will be more than just a four-month fling.

And maybe—just maybe—they’ll make something special enough to have made all the trouble worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whewwwww this story was a doozy. What started out as basically a super long shitpost became this ridiculous fic that I had an incredibly fun time writing.
> 
> Shout out to [@crone_zone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crone_zone/pseuds/crone_zone), whose fic [Famous V-League Players Make Fools Out Of Themselves On Twitter Dot Com](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601522/chapters/59427604) has given me the formatting for the tweets. It took way too long for me to figure out and I now have decided I will never use twitter in fics again tyvm.
> 
> Thank you guys for reading! Hope this made your day a little brighter & your smiles a little fuller.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ginjimahitoshi)


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